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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26086504">My Heart is like Paper (yours is like a flame)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallumbrella/pseuds/smallumbrella'>smallumbrella</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Schitt's Creek</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, POV Alternating, Playlist, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Burn, The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known, thigh fucking</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 03:41:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>56,162</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26086504</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallumbrella/pseuds/smallumbrella</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Painter David Rose owns a warehouse in Schitt's Creek. He's trying very hard not to connect with people right now.<br/>Business major Patrick Brewer is a newly out and wants nothing more than to connect as his true self.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Patrick Brewer/David Rose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>224</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>402</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Patrick *fucking* Brewer</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The title is a lyric from one of the songs on the playlist.<br/>The POV alternates between ***D*** and ***P***<br/>Thank you to Missgeevious. You're a magical wood nymph in the dark forest of words whose mere presence in the world often inspires new words to happen. xo</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/08Wz5ZqlNaP25wjQLEAfFq?si=UYpVeprSR2uuchc7aDgxgA">playlist for this fic</a></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>***D***</p>
<p>Stevie is leaning on the motel front desk. “So. The new building manager shows up soon, yeah?” </p>
<p>David doesn’t look up from the twelve year old magazine he’s flipping through. “I don’t know. Ray said this week, I think.”</p>
<p>“More fresh meat.”</p>
<p>David looks up, puzzled. “More?” </p>
<p>“Yeah, didn’t your new assistant start last week?”</p>
<p>David makes a dismissive sound. “Evan? He’s not even grown yet. He looks like that kid from<em> Call Me by Your Name </em>, and is twenty years old. He’s not meat.”</p>
<p>“Timothée Chalamet! Do you suppose your building manager will look like Armie Hammer?”</p>
<p> “I don’t know anything about him, except that he's a business major. Moving to <em> this </em> town. So highly unlikely to be an eligible prospect for me.”</p>
<p>“Hopefully he’ll be better than Ray.”</p>
<p>“I’ll just avoid him like I did Ray. The guy won’t even know I own the building.”</p>
<p>“Is he going to need a room here? While he looks for a place?”</p>
<p>David goes back to the magazine. “No, he’s moving into the apartment.” He tries to sound blasé about that, because she’s going to give him shit for it. </p>
<p>She shakes her head, pityingly. “You’re never going to live in that apartment, are you?” </p>
<p>“What? And leave the comfort and safety of the motel? Leave my twin bed, that’s five feet from my sister’s? With my parents a paper-thin wall away? As if.” </p>
<p>“Aw, you don’t want to abandon your family do you?”</p>
<p>“I’d abandon them in a heartbeat if it weren’t so creepy in that building all by myself.” </p>
<p>“Maybe the new guy will be a sex god.” Stevie waggles her brows at him.</p>
<p>David rolls his eyes at her. “It’s physically impossible for a business major to be a sex god. The archetypes exist in different dimensions. If one crossed over, it would fracture the space/time continuum. Besides, after the whole Antoni thing, I am not going to fuck around with anyone that lives or works in my building. It’s too close.”</p>
<p>Stevie gives up teasing him. She despised Antoni. “Antoni was a piece of shit who wanted you to throuple with your last assistant, <em> who was in high school </em> if I remember correctly. The new guy will definitely be an improvement on that, unless he’s a literal monster. At least get to know him.”  </p>
<p>David goes back to flipping through the magazine. “I’m trying very hard not to connect with people right now.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s Monday, just past noon, and it’s already blazing hot. A bead of sweat rolls down David’s temple. His arms are straining and he’s breathing hard. </p>
<p>He grits his teeth. “Evan!” </p>
<p>When he finally wrestles the heavy roll of canvas through the bay door of his studio, he loses control of it and it falls to the floor with a thud. He swipes at his brow, a little embarrassed that he’s worked up a sweat moving the roll about six feet from where the delivery guy left it on the dock. It<em> is </em> eight feet tall, but still.</p>
<p>One hand on his hip, the other palm pressed to his sweaty forehead, he calls for his assistant again. “Evan?” A slender young man pokes his head around the divide that separates the art studio and the tiny kitchen area.</p>
<p>“Oh shit Mr.— David, why didn’t you say something? I would’ve helped you!” He hurries over and starts to pick up one end of the roll.</p>
<p>“No, no don’t pick it up! Just go get the cart, please, to move it.” David tries to keep the irritation out of his voice. And he’s going to skate right by <em> Mr. David. </em>Evan has only been with him for a week and is in no way ready to be teased. He’s already developed a crush on David, which seems to render him either paralyzed or over-eager. Evan comes back with the cart. </p>
<p>Together, they heave the roll onto the cart. David straightens up. “Okay, when you get situated? I need you to stretch an eight foot by eight foot canvas for me. You remember where the eight foot stretcher bars are?” The younger man nods. “Okay good. Eight by eight got it?” Evan nods again, eyes wide, and shifting nervously. </p>
<p>David sighs and tries to sound reassuring, “We did that six by eight your first day, and I just watched. You didn’t need my help. You know how to do this Evan, you’ve got this.” </p>
<p>“Yep, I can do this. I’ll do my best.” The poor kid. </p>
<p>“I know you will.” David presses a thumb against his temple. “Did Ray say anything about when the new building manager is supposed to show up? Or about the AC? It’s hot as fuck in here!”</p>
<p>Evan looks relieved to have something to tell him. “Oh yeah, yeah, Ray said the new building manager texted him that he was stuck in traffic, and he’ll get here when he can. And the HVAC guy will come tomorrow.” </p>
<p>“Okay, good, that’s good. When you’re done stretching the eight by eight, can you prime it for me?” Evan nods again. “And can you get it set up on the big easel wall please? I’m going to go. I may come back tonight after it’s cooled down.” More big eyed nodding. David sighs again. If he gets over his crush, the kid has the potential to be a decent assistant. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>***P***</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When Patrick pulled out of his parents' driveway, he’d felt triumphant and excited. He let their words ring in his heart. His mom encouraging him to connect, his father advising him to lead with his ‘big open heart.’ Good road trip music had been pouring out of his speakers as he flew down the freeway. Open-hearted and ready to connect, he could feel a bright new beginning just waiting for him in Schitt’s Creek. Patrick felt free and on his way to his new life. He felt good. He felt ready. </p>
<p>But now, he’s going on hour two of sitting in traffic, three hundred and fifty kilometers from his destination. When Patrick realized he’d be stuck for a while he texted the man who had hired him. Ray assured him they could meet after Patrick got settled and he shouldn’t worry. Ray had sent him keys last week, so he’d be able to let himself in no matter what time he showed up.</p>
<p>Without all the exhilarating forward motion to distract him, Patrick starts thinking about what he’s doing. That this is the last bit of fallout from a bomb he detonated six months ago, when he broke up with Rachel. Leaving his family. His hometown. The friends he’s had his whole life. His first boyfriend, Brian. Though dating someone for six weeks and trading a few handjobs probably doesn’t qualify as a boyfriend. And now he’s headed into the unknown. </p>
<p>He turns up the music and sings. He’s doing the right thing. He’s scared, but he knows it’s right. As soon as he’d left the apartment he’d shared with Rachel, it felt like a weight lifted off of him. He felt <em> hope </em> for the first time in years. He wanted to move far away in order to figure out what’s next, outside the box he grew up in. He’d accepted Ray’s decidedly vague offer of <em> building manager but maybe helping the artist’s businesses too, </em>because it’s a six-month contract, it’s far from home and the pay includes an apartment. It’s the most impulsive thing he’s ever done. </p>
<p>Traffic finally moves. Patrick drives through the night. Windows down. Music loud. He refuses to allow himself to overthink this. His whole life had been over thought and over planned and he’d been safe and secure and miserable. But, in this moment, with just the barest framework of a plan in front of him, he is more fiercely hopeful than he ever thought possible. The wind buffets through the window, pushing unexpected tears across his temple.</p>
<p>He pulls into the parking lot of his new life just before midnight. The building is a humble, cinder block two story, with double glass doors and address numbers that lean drunkenly. In the glow of the lamps in the lot, Patrick can see it needs paint. </p>
<p>Even though it’s dark, he decides to drive around the building, just to check it out. He can see a few windows are still lit up on the second floor, but most are dark. He drives around to the back and sees a loading dock jutting out from the building like a porch and eight big bay doors. All the doors are closed but one. Light is streaming out and Patrick slows down as he passes. The dock is elevated, so he can’t see inside but he can hear loud music blaring. He frowns. He hopes that’s not a regular thing. He has to live here, at least for a little while. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>***D***</p>
<p> </p>
<p>David gets back to his studio around eleven pm. It’s still stifling hot inside, so he opens the big dock door and props open the door to the hallway. He goes down the hall to the storage room and pulls out the big industrial fan. He’s thankful that the heavy fan came with wheels.</p>
<p>When he’d helped his last employer secure a large buyout check she had shared the windfall with him. He decided to invest in fully outfitting the studio. Buying quality paints, brushes and other essentials. Then, inspired by the wheeled fan, he put everything on wheels. Work tables, the futon, the easel walls. He’s not working up a sweat just to move things around. He rolls the fan to his studio and sets it up on the dock so it blows the cool night air inside. </p>
<p>Evan did what he was asked, and set up the eight by eight canvas on the rolling wall David had built for large canvases. He’d also pulled over the table where David lays out his colors, put clean water in the brush jars and set out the containers of paint he uses most. He even locked the wheels on the wall and the table. David nods approvingly to himself.</p>
<p>David stands in front of the massive canvas for several minutes, taking it in. Eight feet by eight feet is the largest canvas he’s done yet. Over the past year, since he started painting abstracts, he’s been painting progressively bigger pieces. He discovered how much he enjoys the intense physicality of painting on a large scale. Sometimes it’s hard for him to finish a painting, not because he thinks it needs more paint, but because he loves the dance. </p>
<p>David puts on his painting playlist and examines the containers of paint. He chooses a zinc white and pours a pool of the fluid acrylic on a metal tray he uses as a palette. On the other side of the table, he sets up several wide mouthed jars of medium bodied paints. He opens the jar of Payne’s gray and stares into it. He’s currently in love with this color. David likes that the name is a little misleading. This is not your plain old black and white mix. No, Payne’s grey is an intensely dark blue-grey. It’s moody and sexy and mixes gorgeous shades. David would like to roll around in it. He grabs a slender brush with a very long handle and gets to work.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>***P***</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Patrick looks at the building as he pulls a suitcase out of the trunk. <em> Okay. Here we go. New life. Starts now </em>. He uses his key to unlock the door and as soon as he opens it, he’s assaulted by sound. The stairs to the second floor and his apartment are to the right and the hallway to the first floor studios is on the left. He can see the third door down is open and the music is pounding out. </p>
<p>
  <em> (No Good by KALEO)  </em>
</p>
<p>He leaves his suitcase at the bottom of the stairs and walks down the hall. He guesses there’s no better time than now to meet a tenant. Patrick isn’t too happy that he has to confront an artist on his first minute in the building, but the music is really loud! He’s sure he’ll be able to hear it upstairs. He gets to the door and what he sees makes him step quickly out of the doorway, stomach flipping. He peeks around the door jam. </p>
<p>The dark haired man inside is shirtless but for a pair of thin, olive green overalls, that are rolled up over muscular calves. He has on paint spattered Doc Martens and his shoulders are shining with sweat. He has a long, slender paint brush in one hand and is scribing erratic dark lines all over a large canvas. He’s using his whole body, moving to the music. He pulls the brush back and studies the lines he’s made, before plunging the brush into a tub of paint and attacking the canvas again. He doesn't notice Patrick, which is a good thing, because Patrick’s mouth is hanging open.</p>
<p>Patrick walks back to his suitcase and takes it up the stairs. His apartment is the third door down. Which means it’s right over that guy’s studio. He can definitely hear the music up here, mostly the bass, throbbing through the floor. Patrick sets his suitcase inside the door. He doesn’t bother checking out the place yet. He’s going to go get the rest of his stuff. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>***D***</p>
<p> </p>
<p>David is deep in it now. He loves this part. It’s kind of like sex. His left brain isn’t really online. There’s just the primal stretch and flex of his muscles as he moves and reaches. Color and shape. The smell of paint in his nose, the vibration of the music over his skin, the sweat slipping down his spine and it’s bliss. </p>
<p>He drags the step ladder over and climbs up to scratch lines across the top portion of the canvas. Should he lay the canvas on the floor? Possibly. It feels like it’d be less fun if it were easy to reach though. </p>
<p>He hops down the ladder and spears the brush into a jar of water. He picks up the tray with zinc white on it, he grabs his largest color shaper and goes back up the ladder. He drags it in wide swoops a few times across the top of the painting, smearing over the lines he’s made. He pauses and then drags the tool down one side as he descends the ladder.</p>
<p>He steps back and looks, then goes back up the ladder again. More broad sweeps. No. That’s not quite it. He makes a frustrated sound at the canvas and throws the color shaper back over his shoulder.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>***P***</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Patrick sets the last box on the floor by the stairs and walks back down to studio three. The music is still blasting. He’s tempted to just peek again, but doesn’t want to be caught peeking like a shy little kid. So Patrick takes a breath, and steps into the open doorway. </p>
<p>The guy doesn’t even notice him. Patrick leans against the door jam and watches him work. He’s standing on the top platform of a four rung step ladder, stomping one foot to the beat of the music. He’s using a tool to apply broad swaths of white, stopping occasionally to reload it with paint from a palette he holds in his other hand. He stops suddenly, making a loud, displeased sound. Then he hurls the tool away and jumps off the ladder. When he straightens up, he sees Patrick. </p>
<p>He shouts over the music, “Who the FUCK are you?!” </p>
<p>The man drops the pallet onto a table and quickly crosses the space in long strides. Patrick steps back, hands up. “Hey! Oh hey, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you!”</p>
<p>The man puts his hands on his hips and stands intimidatingly close, looking down at Patrick. </p>
<p>He is <em> mad! </em> And good Christ, how does <em> mad </em> look this <em> good </em> ? His dark eyes are flashing, his hair is thick, swept up off his forehead except for one gorgeous piece hanging down, curling above one heavy eyebrow. Black stubble frames the most perfect mouth Patrick has ever seen. He takes another step back and the guy advances to keep close. <em> Jesus! </em> Patrick bristles.</p>
<p>The very hot, very angry guy scowls menacingly. “You <em> don’t </em> scare me. How did you get in here? Who the fuck <em> are </em> you?” </p>
<p>Patrick shoves out his hand as if to shake. “I’m Patrick fucking Brewer and I’m the new building manager! Who the fuck are you?!” Patrick’s voice is loud and strong, fueled by defensive anger. </p>
<p>The man’s whole demeanor changes. His shoulders drop and he suppresses a smile, pressing his lips together. “OH! Hey.” Then he turns and walks back into the studio. Patrick is completely discombobulated. <em> What the hell? </em>He takes a few steps into the room. </p>
<p>The guy turns off the music and picks up a rag. He walks back to Patrick, wiping his hands. “I literally forgot you were coming today.” He stops in front of Patrick and holds out his hand. </p>
<p>“Hi. David Rose.” </p>
<p>Patrick shakes his hand. He’s dazzled. “Hi, I’m Patrick… Uh, Brewer.” That’s great. Great start.</p>
<p>“Oh, so you’re not Patrick <em> fucking </em> Brewer then?” David raises one eyebrow and flips the rag over his shoulder. His sweaty, muscled shoulder. Patrick forces himself not to stare.</p>
<p>David gives him a charming, lopsided smile and his stomach flips. Again.</p>
<p>Patrick huffs a laugh. “I’m only Patrick <em> fucking </em> Brewer on first introduction. You know, so folks get a feel for who I really am up front.” He pulls his shoulders back and pretends he can look like a hard ass. </p>
<p>David Rose makes a serious face. He nods and says, “Mmhmm, mmhm, that’s good. Good to inform people then, ‘cause nobody would get Patrick <em> fucking </em>Brewer from all— from all this.” He circles a hand, palm out, up and down in front of Patrick. Who wore jeans and a button down, tucked in, no less, to drive four hundred and sixty two kilometers. </p>
<p>Patrick follows the motion of David’s hand with his eyes. He puts his hands on his hips and tilts his chin up. “I’m terrifying. I’m so sorry I scared you.”  Patrick suppresses his smile and stares challengingly into David’s eyes.</p>
<p>David takes a half step forward, just inside Patrick’s personal space again. He fixes him with dark eyes. He says, “I think <em> I </em> scared <em> you </em>.” </p>
<p>He says it like he knows he’s right. And boy, is he ever right. He scares Patrick. Or, more accurately, <em> thrills </em> him. David probably knows that too. <em> Damn. </em> Patrick takes a half step back. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>***D***</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Patrick retreats a little and David allows him to go. He’d learned the trick a long time ago. Invading someone’s personal space like that. Initially, Patrick <em> had </em> startled him and David did <em> not </em> like it. So, at first, he was just trying to be intimidating. But there is such a gleam in Patrick’s eye that David feels a bright spark in his low belly. Stepping into someone’s space is also seriously good for flirting. </p>
<p>David assesses the man in front of him. Clean cut. Take-charge energy. Nice shoulders. Beautiful big eyes, what’s that color? Maple syrup? Whiskey? Amber? His mouth is pretty hot, that full lower lip! He’s probably straight but seems to be intrigued. He’ll be working in this building, so caution should be taken. However, David is ready for a break from painting and this guy is sort of playful, and flirting isn’t fucking, so. </p>
<p>David hooks his thumbs into the loose waistband of his overalls. “I’m about to take a break. Do you want a drink? I have wine, you like red or...?” </p>
<p>David watches Patrick’s eyes flick down to where his thumbs are pulling the bib of his overalls inward. When Patrick’s eyes come back up, David smirks and repeats, “Drink?” </p>
<p>It looks like it pains him, but Patrick says, “Um, thanks, but no. I drove a lot of miles today and I haven’t even looked at my apartment yet, so… another time?” </p>
<p>David holds eye contact. “Sure, another time.” </p>
<p>Patrick doesn’t look away either. “Alright. See you around then.” </p>
<p><em> Well damn </em>. David is sorely tempted to sweeten the offer but decides not to push. “Yeah, see you.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>***P***</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Patrick turns and walks away. When he gets to the door he turns and David is sitting on top of the ladder again, looking at his painting. “Good night, David.” </p>
<p>“Good night, Patrick.”</p>
<p>Patrick thumps the side of his fist against the door jam as he goes through. He walks to the foot of the stairs and stops, shaking his head as if to clear it. <em> Goddamn. </em>He grabs the box he’d left there and bounds up, two steps at a time. </p>
<p>He opens the door to his apartment. There’s a small lamp that’s lit on an end table in the corner. <em> How nice. </em> Ray probably left a light on for him. He takes in the space. It’s a pretty basic studio apartment. A rectangle, with the living area and sleeping area separated by a small galley style kitchen. It’s partially furnished with an overstuffed chair next to the lamp in the corner, an empty bookshelf, a small kitchen table, and a queen size bed.</p>
<p>Patrick goes into the kitchen and sees a basket on the counter. There’s some fruit, a bottle of wine. And headphones? He flips on the overhead light and picks up the card. </p>
<p>
  <em> Hi New Manager! </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> I’m in studio 3, right underneath you. I play music really loud sometimes so I’m giving you these noise canceling headphones (they’re not new but they’re clean! I promise!) and this bottle of apology wine. I’ll try not to be a monster about it but it’s part of my process. Sorry in advance. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Hope to meet you soon </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> David Rose</em>
</p>
<p>Patrick smiles. Part of his process. He’s cute. He puts the card in his back pocket and investigates the rest of the apartment. It turns out David has been all over this place. This pleases him an inordinate amount. There’s a note on the bathroom sink.</p>
<p>
  <em> Hey, </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Just in case, there's a closet downstairs that has back up rolls of tp and stuff like drano and a few cleaning supplies. It’s like a community thing so if you take something you should replace it.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> DR</em>
</p>
<p>Patrick presses his lips together. Okay, why is this charming? David is charming. There’s a note on the little table by the bed too.</p>
<p>
  <em> Hi Again, </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> This bedding is not new but it is clean. I promise.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> D </em>
</p>
<p><em> Oh thank god. </em> He’s exhausted and he’s so glad he doesn’t have to make up the bed at one in the morning. Patrick opens his suitcase and pulls out sleep clothes, he washes his face and brushes his teeth. He climbs, smiling, between the not-new-but-clean-I-promise sheets and falls heavily asleep.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>***D***</p>
<p> </p>
<p>David works for a while longer. He uses earbuds for his music. He knows those noise canceling headphones are not very efficient and he’s going to give Patrick a break for tonight. Using earbuds is not the same experience for David. He likes the way the bass notes vibrate the air, he likes to be loud when he paints. But, no need to piss off the new building manager on his first night. Patrick. David smiles. </p>
<p>It’s close to two in the morning when he finally stops. He turns off the big fan and walks out on the dock. As much as he loves the noise and energy of a good paint session, the quiet of this hour always pleases him. There's several wooded acres on the far side of the back lot and if it’s very quiet, David can hear the little creek that splashes along the edge of the tree line. David stretches and yawns. He goes back in and closes the bay door and the door to the hall.</p>
<p>It’s far too late, and he’s far too tired, to walk back to the motel tonight. There’s a futon and David keeps clean bedding and clothes on site. When Antoni was upstairs in three, he’d spend the night with him, but Antoni is a stone cold asshole and Patrick is in three now. So, it’s the futon or a thirty minute walk in the pitch dark. He makes up the futon. </p>
<p>He doesn’t hate staying over in the studio. The tiny shower stall is the least sexy place in the world, but it offers the privacy that David doesn’t have at the motel. He washes his body slowly, imagining it’s someone else’s hands on him. He tries to focus on the beautiful bodies he’s known rather than the faces. Thinking of faces makes him remember the carelessness of the person.</p>
<p>He thinks of hands and arms, sculpted asses and thick cocks. Button down shirts and big amber eyes. David’s eyes open. Oh. Okay. Patrick has a sexy mouth, and hasn’t been cruel to David yet. He closes his eyes again and imagines Patrick’s mouth on his cock, looking up at him with those eyes. It’s an especially satisfying orgasm. </p>
<p>After showering and doing a truncated skin care routine, David puts on a clean white t-shirt and boxer briefs, it’s still too hot for proper sleep clothes. He pulls the rolling easel wall over to block the futon from the rest of the space and lays down. His last thought before sleep takes him is, ‘<em> I’m Patrick fucking Brewer.’ How cute.  </em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Direct Access</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>***P***</p><p> </p><p>The next morning, Patrick wakes up groggy. He manages to find his electric kettle and some tea. He gets the water going and looks through his boxes. Of course there’s no food. He was supposed to be here early enough to get groceries yesterday. He sends up a silent thank you to David for the fruit in the basket. He sets his tea to steep and looks out his window. He likes the woods out back. If he gets close to the glass he can see the dock below. David’s dock. Patrick smiles and sits down with his tea and an apple. </p><p>While he sips, he uses his phone to google grocery stores and points of interest in the area. He’s pleased to see that the woods in the back are part of a park, and there’s a running trail that’s accessible by a nearby footbridge. Patrick has a plan now and he writes up a grocery list as he finishes his tea. </p><p> </p><p>***D***</p><p> </p><p>David wakes to the sound of someone in his studio. “Hello?” He squawks. David clears his throat and tries again. “Evan?”</p><p>“Yeah? You up? I brought you a coffee.”</p><p><em> Oh thank god. </em> David gets up and pulls on a pair of paint spattered white jeans. He thinks about draping a blanket over his shoulders to spare Evan the sight of him in an undershirt but it’s still too warm. It’s the first time David’s slept in the studio since Evan started, so he’s never seen him like this. Evan responds pretty strongly when he comes into the kitchen.  </p><p>Evan coughs and looks over David’s head and around the space. Anywhere but at David. He stammers, “H-hey, good morning, um, I got here and I saw you were, you were here. I just went back out to get you coffee and I, and I cleaned up a little…” He flails an arm in the direction of the studio and continues to avoid eye contact. </p><p>He hands David the coffee cup. “I’m sorry I don’t know how you take it.” He looks hopeful.</p><p>“I’m sure it’s fine.” David takes a sip. <em> Oh god </em>. It is not fine. Black, no sugar. He tries not to grimace. Evan’s face falls.</p><p>David sets down the cup. “Okay, I’ve never had you get coffee for me before. If I write down my order for you, do you mind going back out?” Evan is nodding. David gets cash out of his bag and hands it to him. “Go ahead and get yourself a cup of whatever too, okay?” Evan finally looks David in the face, pressing his lips together and looking worried. </p><p>“Yes, I will, and thank you, and I’m so sorry!” </p><p>“Evan stop. It’s fine. Honestly, how could you know? But I really,<em> really </em> need coffee right now, that I can actually drink, so here,” David writes his order on a scrap of paper and hands it to Evan. “Will you go get this for me please?” </p><p>“Yes, of course, I’m so sorry, yes, yeah.” </p><p>Evan takes the piece of paper and dashes out the door. David sighs. He supposes it should be flattering to have a guy so young be into him, but it’s mostly exhausting. He really wishes he could afford an experienced, mature assistant. But beggars can’t be choosers and Evan is a volunteer from the art school in Elmdale. David gets ready for the day as best he can while he waits for his coffee. </p><p> </p><p>***P***</p><p> </p><p>Patrick is very pleased with the running path in the park. It’s a nice three mile loop with a good hill and lots of shade. He does the loop twice and heads back. He jogs up the front steps and stops in front of the glass doors. He checks his pulse before reaching for the door. </p><p>The door bangs open, nearly hitting him. Patrick jumps back and the young guy that flies through the door is all over him, apologizing.</p><p>“Oh my god, Mister, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry!” He’s got his hands on Patrick’s shoulders and panic in his eyes.</p><p>“I’m okay, it’s okay! Really, you didn’t hit me, just startled me!” He backs up out of the kid’s hands and holds out his own. “I’m Patrick Brewer. I’m the new building manager. Are you an artist here?” </p><p>“Oh god no, I wish. I’m Evan Baker, I’m David—” His voice breaks. “Mr. Rose’s assistant. I gotta get him coffee or he’s gonna let me go for sure.” Evan is already moving away from him, gesturing toward the parking lot. “I’m sorry I almost hit you. I gotta go, gotta go!” He literally sprints away and gets in a decrepit hatchback and tears out of the lot. </p><p>Patrick shakes his head and chuckles. Poor kid, his voice had gotten all hoarse just saying <em> Mr. Rose </em> . Working for David must be a terrifying turn on. Patrick turns to go into the building and notices a scrap of paper on the ground. Patrick picks it up and sees familiar handwriting; <em> Caramel Macchiato skim - two sweeteners - sprinkle of cocoa powder. </em>Evan dropped David’s coffee order. Patrick grins and goes inside.</p><p>He’s excited. Patrick has been hoping to see David pretty much since he opened his eyes this morning. There’s no music and his door is closed, so Patrick hesitates. That kid, Evan, was running scared. Maybe David is a complete asshole before coffee. But that kid no longer has David’s order, so Patrick knocks on the door. </p><p>He barely hears David say, “It’s open.” </p><p>Patrick opens the door and pokes his head in. “Hey, David.”</p><p>David is sitting on the top of the step ladder looking at his painting. The painting looks different than the night before. As does David. He has on a white t-shirt and a pair of paint speckled white jeans, his hair is a little messy and he’s wearing soft looking slipper boots. It occurs to Patrick that <em> this </em> might be why Evan is so flustered. All in white, David is a vision. </p><p>David doesn’t look at him, he just says, “What’s up?” </p><p>“Um, your assistant? Evan? He dropped this.” Patrick waves the piece of paper and David finally glances over at him. <em> Damn. </em> His face is all relaxed and soft. He must have just woken up. </p><p>David tips his head back and sighs heavily, groaning in the back of his throat as he exhales. The sound curls around the base of Patrick’s spine and vibrates there, sending tingling sparks through his pelvis. Patrick clears his throat to cover his gasp. <em> Good god, that sound. </em> David seems to unfold himself. Standing up on the ladder, and stepping down easily, as if walking down a ladder facing the wrong way is something he does all the time. </p><p>David pulls his phone from his back pocket and is texting as he walks over to Patrick. His dark head is down, gifting Patrick with a glorious view of his thick, tousled hair. His jeans ride low on his hips, showing a strip of skin that rivets Patrick’s attention. David stops a couple of feet in front of him to finish the text. Then he looks up at Patrick. </p><p> </p><p>***D***</p><p> </p><p>David finishes his text to Evan and looks up. He hadn’t really looked at Patrick when he first came in and<em> my god</em>. Patrick is wearing a very thin, very sweaty grey t-shirt, and grey gym shorts. The damp t-shirt is molded to his chest and clings to his flat belly, and David’s eyes wander lower and when, he wonders, did generic gym shorts get sexy? David does not know, but <em> damn</em>.</p><p>David closes his eyes and clears his throat. “Thanks for catching that. Evan is, well, he’s new and kind of nervy right now so I’m sure he’s freaking out.” He opens his eyes and forces himself to maintain eye contact even though the notch of Patrick’s throat is glistening with sweat and begging to be licked. <em> Fuck.</em></p><p>Patrick nods. “Sure, yeah, no problem. Poor kid looked terrified, or flustered, or <em> something </em>.” Patrick is smirking at him. “I mean, he could barely say your name!” He’s chuckling now. </p><p>David snorts. The crush is that obvious then. He rolls his eyes and says, “Yeah, terrified <em> and </em> something I think.” David feels his face heating up. He puts his hands on his hips and lifts his chest slightly and he’s very pleased when Patrick’s eyes drop down to look.  </p><p>Patrick’s eyes come back up. One side of his bottom lip catches between his teeth for a second. “I can’t say as I blame him though, David.”</p><p>David widens his eyes. He says slowly, “You can’t, hmm?” Is Patrick fucking Brewer flirting with him right now? That spark in his low belly flares brightly.</p><p>“You just look a little scary right now is all.” Patrick grins and looks pointedly at David’s hair.</p><p>“Oh for fuck’s sake!” <em> The nerve! </em> David’s stomach still swoops for some reason. He rakes his hand through his hair and turns his back to Patrick and walks to the ladder. He turns back around, Patrick is still grinning at him. David flails an arm at him. “I think we’re done here <em> Patrick fucking Brewer! </em> You can go any time.” </p><p>Patrick laughs. The look on his face is so open and playful that David has to press his lips together to hold down his smile. He shakes his head at Patrick and makes a dismissive motion with his hand. He bites his lip, then pitches his voice low. “Go on, get out.” David is feeling a little flustered himself. </p><p> </p><p>***P***</p><p> </p><p>Never has a dismissal sounded more like a fucking invitation to Patrick’s ears. David’s tone is  dizzying, but he powers through. He waves cheerily and calls out brightly, “Alright then, I’ll see ya later, David!” </p><p>He climbs the stairs and notices he still has the slip of paper in his hand. He can’t stop smiling. Patrick is a little shocked at himself. He’s never been much of a flirt. He certainly never flirted with women when he thought he was straight. But there’s something about David. Patrick just wants to <em> play </em> with him. </p><p>He lets himself into his apartment and turns on the shower. He’s going to meet with Ray today and get a tour of the building and a run down of his responsibilities. He’s looking forward to getting a handle on the job.</p><p>He strips out of his damp running clothes and steps into the shower. The hot water sluices down his sweat cooled body and he shivers. He closes his eyes and tips his head back into the spray. </p><p>A slideshow of images shutter-click though his mind. David working on his painting. David’s hotly angry eyes last night. The way he stood just a little too close. How sleep softened and sweet he looked just now. The exposed strip of skin at his waist. The way his eyes drifted over Patrick’s body. Patrick shivers again and puts his hand on his quickly hardening dick. The way he said <em> Patrick fucking Brewer. </em> The way his eyes looked when he said <em> I scared you </em> . Inviting him for a drink. His thumbs hooked into his overalls. Patrick is stroking is cock in earnest now. The hair on David’s chest. The sweat shining on his shoulders. His voice. His pornographic mouth. That fucking <em> sound </em> he made. Patrick groans. His body shudders and he comes over his hand. <em> Goddamn </em>. He laughs at himself and finishes his shower. </p><p>He hears his phone ping when he steps out of the shower. He wraps a towel around his waist and checks it. It’s from Ray. </p><p>
  <em> (11:36am) R. Butani: I’m sorry I have to cancel our meeting today. The room next to your apartment is your office. Please make yourself at home there. </em>
</p><p>Okay. Now what is he going to do? He stares into space, ruminating. Grocery store. Unpack. Check out the office. A new plan in place, Patrick gets moving again. Good.</p><p>After seeing the abysmal selection at the general store, Patrick drives to Elmdale for groceries, where he takes note of a gym, a laundromat, and a bookstore. He spends the afternoon arranging his cabinets and unpacking. He checks out his office. It’s not big, but it’s furnished and has a big window overlooking the woods in the back. It’s humble and dusty and infinitely better than the cubicle he left behind.  </p><p>In the filing cabinet he discovers the lease agreements. He flips through them. Studio eight is Jake Long, Longwood designs. Patrick snorts, there’s a name. Xander Pacheco is in a small office upstairs, no indication of what they do. Margie Sims, of Luminous stained glass is in studio one. Patrick frowns. There’s only three, and there doesn’t seem to be one for David. He writes some ideas on how to attract new tenants. He writes <em> David lease? </em> on a post it note and sticks it to the base of his desk lamp. Being in the office makes Patrick feel productive. It feels like a good day. </p><p>
  <em> (8:30pm) D. Rose: Evan was grateful you found my order. This is David btw. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (8:31pm) P. Brewer: Glad to be of service. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (8:32pm) P. Brewer: How’d you get my number? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (8:35pm) D. Rose: Ray posted it on the bulletin board in the hallway. He thought all the tenants should have direct access to you. *shrugging emoji*  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (8:36pm) D. Rose: I hope it’s okay that I texted you. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (8:38pm) P. Brewer: It’s okay. You should have direct access to me.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>***D***</p><p> </p><p>David unlocks his studio at the ungodly hour of nine in the morning.  He woke too early and his mind immediately got busy with yesterday’s discovery. Not only was Jake sleeping with both him <em> and </em> Stevie, but they somehow decided that they were both cool with it. <em> I’m not, not cool with it. </em> What the fuck was that? How did that even happen? Jake’s dick magic is how it happened. Jake’s big dick magic and the fact that David hadn’t gotten laid since he kicked Antoni out two months ago. He <em> knew </em>he shouldn’t have started messing with someone in the building! He knew it!</p><p>David picks up a coffee on his way in and plans on drinking it on the dock. There’s a bistro table back there and it’s quiet. David opens the studio and rolls up the dock door. The air feels lovely and he sits with his art journal and coffee and lets the morning present itself. </p><p>When Jake’s truck pulls up to the far end of the dock, David steels himself. Jake gets out and instead of going around and climbing the stairs like a normal person, he athletically hikes himself up on the dock. Because Jake always does the hottest possible thing. It’s always his first life choice, the sexy bastard. </p><p>Jake opens his big door and raises his hand in David’s direction. David waves back. He tries to make it as nonchalant as possible. He told Jake it was cool. Sure. It’s cool. David’s cool with it. For fucks sake. He rolls his eyes at himself and goes back to his journal. He’ll just ignore Jake. Because<em> that’s </em> easy. He distracts himself by reading over his text exchange with Patrick from last night. <em> Direct access </em> indeed. He looks back up at Jake.</p><p>Jake has already peeled off his flannel shirt, and he’s wearing the hell out of a grey tank top. David knows how that shirt smells; like cheap soap, clean sweat and sawdust. His skin tingles.</p><p>It doesn’t help that Jake is outstanding in bed; athletic, uninhibited and generous. David shakes his head at his twitching dick. <em> NO. None of that! </em> He’s not fucking Jake in his woodshop. Not today. He should probably walk away from that whole situation. Get a fresh start. He goes back to sketching and sipping his coffee. <em> Fresh start for me and my big dumb dick. </em></p><p>Voices at the end of the dock draw his attention several minutes later. David squints down in that direction. It’s Patrick, in all his post-run glory, shaking hands with Jake. David has no doubt that Jake will hit on Patrick. He sets his sketchbook down to watch. </p><p> </p><p>***P***</p><p> </p><p>Patrick is cooling down, jogging slowly up the path to the back lot. When he gets to the edge of the blacktop he sees a tall man unloading wood into studio eight. This must be Jake. Patrick wavers, unsure if he should meet a tenant while he’s still in his running clothes. </p><p>Then he gets closer and gets a good look at Jake. He’s a craftsman, so probably not one to stand on formalities. Patrick trots up the stairs at the end of the dock.</p><p>“Hey, you’re Jake Long right?” Patrick says, extending his hand as he moves toward the man.</p><p>Jake finishes setting down several narrow planks of wood, and stands upright. He towers over Patrick. “Hey man.” Jake shakes his hand and his eyes take a slow trip over Patrick’s body.</p><p><em> Goddamn, are all the men around here this hot? </em> </p><p>When Jake doesn’t say anything else, Patrick continues, “I’m Patrick Brewer, I’m the new building manager.”</p><p>Jake just <em> looks </em>at him, then he nods and says, “Cool.”</p><p>Patrick smiles and frowns lightly. “Okay, well, if you need anything let me know. My office is upstairs.”</p><p>Jake is still looking at him appraisingly. He says slowly, “Okay thanks. If <em> you </em> need anything, you let <em> me </em> know. Patrick.” </p><p>Jake’s way of speaking is compelling. A little slow. A little low. It makes Patrick feel like he’s swaying toward him. </p><p>Patrick’s stomach swoops<em>. What is up with this guy?  </em>“Sure, sure, okay.” </p><p>Patrick starts to turn away, when he notices David on the other side of the dock. He turns on his heel and makes a b-line for him. He barely remembers to say over his shoulder, “Nice to meet you, man.” </p><p>He doesn’t hear Jake respond. He makes his way over to David who is grinning knowingly at him. Patrick is a little flushed. </p><p>“Good morning, Patrick.” David has one eyebrow cocked up high and there’s laughter bubbling beneath his words. </p><p>David’s eyes are dancing over him, taking him in, looking at his body the way Jake did, like he <em> knows </em> that Jake did. For a fraction of a second Patrick thinks about what it’d be like to strip off his sweaty t-shirt right now. He wonders what it’d be like to give David something to look at. He blushes harder at the thought.</p><p>“Good morning David. You seem, uh, bright eyed.”</p><p>David is pressing his lips together and he looks from Patrick, down the dock to Jake, and back to Patrick again.</p><p>Patrick huffs. “What the hell is <em> up </em> with that guy?”</p><p>David finally laughs out loud, and the bright, electric sound could knock Patrick to his knees. David gestures for him to sit, so he pulls a chair closer to David’s side of the table.</p><p> </p><p>***D***</p><p> </p><p>David watches Patrick drag the chair over.</p><p>Patrick catches his surprised look. “What? I wanna get in the shade.” </p><p>David smiles and lifts his chin in Jake’s direction. “And maybe keep looking at him?” </p><p>Patrick turns his chair a little so he’s angled more toward David. “Nah, the view this way is better.” He squints his eyes and looks out at the woods.</p><p>David smirks<em>. Oh my god, how cute are you?  </em>“Mmhmm. You have to admit Jake’s hot though. Even a straight guy can see that.” </p><p>Patrick tilts his head and smiles. “Yeah? You a straight guy, David?”</p><p>David barks a laugh. Patrick is bold! David likes bold, especially around the subject of preferences. “I am not straight, no.” He pauses for effect. Even if Patrick is straight, he’s obviously confident enough to flirt for fun. David’s going to have some fun then. </p><p>Patrick is waiting for him to continue, but before he does, David stretches his legs out straight under the table. He watches Patrick’s attention drop down to the movement. David very subtly flexes his hips up as he crosses his ankles. When Patrick’s eyes come back up to his, David gives him a slow blink. “I’m pan.”</p><p>Before David can ask his preferences, Patrick says, “So you’re interested in Jake then?” </p><p>Well, that’s not a question David wants to answer. “Looks like he was interested in you.” He waggles his eyebrows. </p><p>Patrick looks at him sideways and chuckles. “Not what I asked, but okay. He is not a bashful guy is he?”</p><p>“Nope. Not bashful. At some point he <em> will </em> ask you over for whiskey or whatever. Just know that <em> whatever </em> is code for group sex so…”</p><p> </p><p>Patrick’s eyes go wide, his smile turns upside down and he chuckles again. “Oh, okay, good to know. I like whiskey but I’m not interested in group sex. I kinda like to focus, you know?” He frowns in concentration and makes a gesture, holding his hand on it’s side and squinting down it’s edge. </p><p>David’s eyebrows shoot up. <em> Oh, he is cute! </em> David opens his mouth to ask him about <em> focus, </em>when Evan comes out the door. His eyes jump between the two men. “Oh, um, hi? Mr. Brewer, right?”</p><p>Patrick says, “You can call me Patrick, Evan.”</p><p>David is annoyed that Evan interrupted what was shaping up to be a very nice flirt. “What is it, Evan?”</p><p>Evan’s eyes lock on David and he says, “I primed the six by eight and it’s drying. I changed the paper on your table and put clean water in the jars. Is there anything else? Or should I…”</p><p>There’s a sharp noise from Jake’s end of the dock and Evan’s words trail off as he catches sight of Jake. David looks over at Patrick and they both watch Evan for a long minute.</p><p>Finally David asks, “You okay there, Evan?”</p><p>Evan drags his eyes back to David and says, “Wha? Yeah, I’m… I’m okay…” His eyes wander back to Jake. </p><p>Patrick glances at David and winks. It’s not a good wink but it makes David’s stomach do a little flip. Then Patrick gets up and stands beside Evan. They all quietly watch Jake do his thing for a minute.</p><p>Patrick stretches. “Well. I should go.”</p><p>Evan seems to realize where he is and blushes a deep red. He looks back and forth between David and Patrick, both men look at him with understanding smiles.</p><p>Evan stammers, “I’m. I’ve. I should go…” He’s still blushing as he disappears back into the studio.</p><p>David looks up at Patrick. “Poor baby.”</p><p>Patrick smiles and shakes his head. “He’s kind of lucky actually, to know what he’s about so young. It’ll save him a lot of grief later.”</p><p>David takes that in. “Care to expound on that?"</p><p>“Nope. I gotta get ready to meet with Ray.”</p><p>“Oh right. Okay. See you...See you Patrick.”</p><p>David watches Patrick go through his dock door and disappear. He pouts a little. He likes Patrick’s attention. He wanted to tease him and flirt some more. </p><p>David looks over and sees that Jake is no longer on the dock. He sighs and sips his coffee, it’s cold. </p><p>Well fuck.</p><p> </p><p>***P***</p><p> </p><p>Patrick has been following Ray around the building for thirty minutes, taking notes the whole time. He quickly learns that Ray is a positive, affable guy who mixes very few important details into a lot of frivolous stories. </p><p>Like, before he introduced him to Xander, the man who rents a small office space on the second floor, Ray tells him in great detail that he, Ray, had dated the woman that used to rent the same room and then recounted the whole story of their first date. </p><p>Then, two seconds before knocking on Xander’s door Ray tells him that Xander is a freelance writer. Patrick makes a note of that. Xander is a friendly guy with pale blue eyes and an easy smile. They make small talk for a minute before he excuses himself, saying he has a writing deadline to meet. </p><p>He has to sift through so many words to get the information he needs. Like, there’s an electrician, Hank, that uses the office across from Patrick’s apartment but he pays no rent. Patrick learns all about the electrician's son’s little league team before he gets the detail that the building’s whole electrical system has been recently upgraded at cost, as a trade for the space. It’s frustrating that he has to listen so hard. And tiring. Hank is busy, so after a firm handshake and smile they leave him to his work. Patrick makes notes.</p><p>Ray takes him to meet the artists in the studios. More stories. Before they knock on the door of studio one, Patrick gets details about Margie, the stained glass artist. She’s married to Darlene and they have six cats, two of which are named Barney. “Because they are barn cats! Isn’t that amusing?”</p><p>Margie is working, but she invites them in and shows them her space. Patrick recognizes that this is not conventional stained glass like the lampshades his mom likes. Margie makes long narrow panels of random, brilliant colors and she hangs them in patterns. The windows of the studio are glowing with them and Patrick is enchanted. </p><p>“This one is vacant.” Ray informs him as he unlocks the door to studio two. He waves his hand at the space and says, “All of the studios are just like this, twenty five by forty feet. There’s a small kitchen area with counter space and a big sink. Some artists bring in a small refrigerator or a microwave. There’s electrical for that. Oh, each studio has a small bathroom as well.” He opens a door and shows Patrick the little bathroom. It has a narrow fiberglass shower stall, toilet and tiny sink. </p><p>Patrick notices an upright piano against the wall, beside the dock door, and walks over to it. “Who does this belong to?” </p><p>“Oh that? The previous owner of the building brought that in and just left it when he sold everything.”</p><p>Patrick touches the keys and they plonk in a sad, unmelodious way. He grimaces, disappointed. It’s in desperate need of a tuning. </p><p>Ray chatters away. “Now we’ll go meet David Rose in studio three. He’s a painter! His family was once very, very rich but they got swindled! They own the town, so this is where they came to get back on their feet. They live in the motel by the main road. They own this particular building, but no other buildings.”</p><p>Patrick’s ears have perked way up. Gossip makes him uncomfortable, but he really wants to learn more about David. “They own this building outright?” This <em> is </em> stuff he needs to know after all. </p><p>“Yes, that is correct. They don’t owe anything on it. The previous owner of the town bought this building, so it was part of the package. The town was purchased as a funny gift for David. The building is the only thing David is interested in though. He was here alone for a while but since hiring me as manager last year we’ve managed to get a few tenants. David doesn’t charge them very much to be here, but the utilities and property taxes are paid for out of that.” Ray stops and puts a hand on Patrick’s arm. “You should know that your salary comes from a grant I secured. If you wish to stay past your six month contract, you’ll need to reapply for that grant or fill the building with tenants so David can afford you.” </p><p>Patrick is writing furiously in his notebook. David owns the building. He should set up a meeting with him, one on one, to talk about his wants and needs. For the building. This job just got more interesting. For the first time, Patrick thinks he may want to stay past six months.</p><p>Ray is still talking. “David set up your apartment for himself, but he found it too creepy to live in this big building all by himself. Antoni lived there for a short time but he and David had a falling out. Antoni said it was because David didn't want to be involved with a tenant, but I don’t think he was a nice man.” </p><p>Patrick follows him back out into the hall. He can hear music coming from David’s studio. “Uh, Ray, I met David on my first night here so we can skip his studio for now. I think that music means he’s busy…” </p><p>“Oh, yes, you’re probably right. We’ll move along.” </p><p>All the studios between three and eight are empty. Studio eight is Jake’s, and Patrick is not unhappy that he’s not on site. The guy is a lot. </p><p>They stand at the bottom of the stairs. Ray says, “You’ll find lots of pertinent information in the file cabinet in your office. And you can always call me if you have questions.”</p><p>“I looked through the files a bit, Ray. Thanks. I can’t think of questions right now but I’m sure I’ll come up with some.” </p><p>Ray says, “I know it’s early but would you like to join me for lunch? I’d love to keep chatting. I have so many other businesses I’d like to tell you about!”</p><p>“Oh gosh, Ray, thank you, but I still have a lot of unpacking to do. I think I’m going to get to it.”</p><p>The two men shake hands and Ray departs, leaving Patrick to savor the silence. </p><p>Patrick feels bad about lying to Ray about unpacking, but the man’s relentless enthusiasm for literally everything is a bit much. Patrick rearranges things in the apartment and goes online to shop for a couch. </p><p>Around dinner time he wanders downstairs to see if David is still in his studio. Patrick is both disappointed and relieved when he isn’t in. He wants to see him. Having David’s attention is  like being plugged into a power source. At the same time, being around him makes Patrick feel like he’s in freefall, exhilarated but overwhelmed. It’s like nothing he’s felt before.</p><p>He makes a sandwich for dinner and watches a Ken Burns documentary on his laptop. For the first time in his life, he feels the soft weight of loneliness settle on his chest. He thinks of calling his mom, but she would worry. He thinks of calling Brian, but even when they were dating, they hadn’t talked on the phone much, so that would feel awkward. Patrick hesitates until it’s too late to reach out to anyone. </p><p>He goes to bed early, hoping a good night’s sleep will help. He stares at the ceiling in the dark, absently running his hands over his chest. He thinks of the way Jake made himself available, if Patrick <em> needed </em> anything. Jake is hot. Like, drop dead sexy. But Patrick’s mind doesn’t stay on him. David is just so much more interesting. He’s such a good flirt. He knew Patrick would look at his long legs stretching out under the table. And that thing he did with his hips, my god. </p><p>Patrick’s hands wander lower. He spreads his legs and runs his fingers along the crease of his thighs. He closes his eyes and thinks of all the things David does with his mouth. The gorgeous way it moves and purses, the way his smile tilts all the way to the left sometimes, the way he presses his lips together when he’s secretly delighted. Patrick stifles a moan. Then he remembers he lives alone and there’s no need to be quiet.  Patrick likes sounds, he likes sounds a <em> lot, </em> so he opens his mouth and lets out a breathy moan.</p><p>Patrick reaches for the new bottle of lube he bought and slicks his hand up his hard dick. He imagines what it would feel like to bear David’s weight on top of him. He thinks of looking down and seeing his dark head between his thighs. His mouth on him, his otherworldly mouth. Patrick is close already and, panting, he groans David’s name. His hips lift off the bed as he comes. He pants, whispering <em> David David </em>as his body shudders through waves of pleasure. He floats for a while. Never in his life has he come like that from jerking off. He can’t imagine what it’d be like to actually bed David. He would die. He would lose his mind. It would be worth it.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. One Step Closer</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>***D*** </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> (Never the same by Supreme beings of Leisure) </em>
</p><p>David grabs a block of charcoal and a spray bottle. He scrapes the pointed corner of the block against the painting and makes some marks. He then turns the block so it’s flat, and drags a wide black line across the corner of the canvas. He sprays it and repeats the motion with the charcoal. He sprays it a few more times and watches the charcoal run. He sprays the drips and they spread out in feathery veins.</p><p> He smiles at his work and says, “Nice. You know what I want.” </p><p> </p><p>***P***</p><p> </p><p>Patrick hears music as soon as he comes in from his morning run. His stomach flips. David’s studio door is open, so Patrick steps in, fully intending to walk right through. But he stops in his tracks. David’s painting again and Patrick is enthralled at the sight. The way his body moves. Confident, purposeful. His intense focus. Patrick watches him smile and murmur something at the canvas. How is this so captivating?</p><p>The song is odd and dreamlike and vaguely suggestive and the combination of that and David’s physicality, his intensity, cause a wave of heat to wash through Patrick’s body. The singer croons, <em>one step closer, one step closer to heaven.</em></p><p>Patrick shakes himself out of his reverie. He can’t make a habit of spying on David like this. It’s not very professional. He moves into the space a bit.</p><p> </p><p>***D***</p><p> </p><p>Movement catches David’s eye and he startles. “Fuck, Patrick!”</p><p>The other man sheepishly raises the fingers of one hand in a little wave. He yells over the music. “Can I talk to you a minute?”</p><p>David climbs off his ladder and turns off the music. “Sure, let me wash my hands.” He waves his charcoal blackened hands and moves to the sink.</p><p>Patrick follows him and leans a hip on the counter, looking down into the sink, watching him wash up. David’s eyes flick up to him but Patrick doesn’t notice, he’s staring down at his hands. It feels strangely intimate. David turns off the water and dries his hands.</p><p>David leans on the counter too. “What’s up. You look serious.”</p><p>Patrick’s eyebrows pop up. “What? Oh, no it’s nothing bad. I’d just like to make an appointment to meet with you.”</p><p>David frowns and pulls his head back in surprise. “Me? Why do you want to meet with me?”</p><p>Patrick tilts his head and frowns back. “Um. Because you’re the owner of this building, and I’d like to know what you expect of me?”</p><p><em> Fuck.</em> Ray must have told him and why wouldn’t he? But apparently now he’s supposed to have expectations, and he doesn’t. He doesn’t want to have them either. “Oh. I guess we can do that. I’m not sure what…” </p><p>Patrick gets out his phone and opens his calendar. He looks up at David with just his eyes and the spark in David’s belly flares. Patrick says, “When’s good for you?” </p><p>David stammers, “I, um. I don’t know?” Then he blurts, “Uh, you wanna have lunch with me today?” Goddammit <em> why </em> does he blurt? Fuck!</p><p>Patrick’s eyes grow warm and he smiles. “I’d like that. What time?” He looks at the time and says, “It’s almost noon now.” </p><p>A small cluster of fireworks pop and sizzle in David’s belly. He waves his hands to put them out. “I don’t know, one o’clock?” Patrick puts it in his calendar. Patrick puts a lunch meeting, that’s happening in an hour, in his calendar. Who does that and why does David find it so endearing?</p><p>“I’ll come down at one and we can drive over together?” </p><p>“Oh, I order in when I’m like this.” David gestures at his body. He doesn't like to be seen out like this. Full of paint, messy. David watches Patrick’s eyes drift over him. He unconsciously stands up straighter. “There’s a great pizza place in Elmdale that’ll deliver out here, is pizza okay?”</p><p>“Pizza sounds great David.”</p><p>David tries not to grimace. “What do you like on it?” He braces himself for incorrect topping combinations.</p><p>Patrick shrugs. “I literally don’t care. I’ve never met a pizza I didn’t like. Whatever your favorites are will be fine.”</p><p>“Okay. I’ll call them.” David is pleased with Patrick’s answer. He hopes he’s not just being overly accommodating. His belly still feels full of sparks and now his brain is all fuzzy and nervy. What the fuck is happening right now?</p><p>“Great. See you soon.”</p><p>David watches Patrick go out the door and he’s almost too agitated to admire his ass in those thin running shorts. Almost but not quite. <em> God he has a nice ass. </em> </p><p>David shakes himself and looks around the studio.<em> I’m supposed to have expectations now.  Fuck. What if Patrick has expectations of me? </em></p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>***P***</p><p> </p><p>Patrick takes the stairs two at a time. He strips off his running clothes and gets in the shower. He feels weird. His body doesn’t feel relaxed like it usually does after a run. His mind is going a mile a minute. He’s very excited. Nervous even. Why on earth is he nervous? All of his bosses have loved him. Really loved him. He’s smart and has a work ethic so unflinching that he's pissed off coworkers in the past. He doesn’t have to worry about impressing David. He<em> really </em>wants to impress David though. He wants to see those dark eyes light up. He wants to make him smile. He wants to please him. David will love him. </p><p>Oh.</p><p><em> Oh shit. </em> David is his boss. The man he’s been sort of flirting with and jerking off about is his fucking boss. Patrick looks down at his hard dick in his hand. “You idiot.” He tells it. “You have a crush on your boss!” Patrick’s dick does not care. Patrick’s dick is remembering David washing his hands. His big hands. His big, soapy, slippery hands. Patrick groans as he comes. Well fuck. </p><p> </p><p>***D***</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> (12:05pm) D. Rose: Two things. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (12:08pm) S. Budd: ?? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (12:08pm) D. Rose: Patrick- new bldg mngr- v. cute. Prob. straight </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (12:09pm) S. Budd: And? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (12:09pm) D. Rose: I’m his boss? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (12:10pm) S. Budd: Is that a question?  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (12:11pm) D. Rose: Yes? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (12:12pm) S. Budd: Why are you being weird? You own the bldg. So. I guess Boss.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> (12:13pm) S. Budd: I thought you’d be into it. Ur bossy. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (12:15pm) S. Budd: David. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (12:18pm) S. Budd: You LIKE him!!!!!!!  Lolololololol!!! </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (12:19pm) D. Rose: Mean </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (12:19pm) D. Rose: Unnecessary </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (12:20pm) S. Budd: LOLOLolololololololol! *laugh crying emoji* x 10 </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (12:20pm) S. Budd: *laugh crying emoji* x 20 </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (12:21pm) D. Rose: *middle finger emoji*  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>***P***</p><p> </p><p>The shower and the jerking off do nothing to calm Patrick’s nerves. Realizing that David is his boss has not taken the edge off his crush at all. He frets over whether or not to shave then finally does. He tries on 3 different shirts. He looks into the mirror and gives himself a talking to.<em> Imagine that it’s Bill. Your old boss Bill. Old guy. Not hot. You’re going to meet Bill to discuss his expectations. BILL. </em>He tries to hold a picture of Bill in his head. </p><p>Patrick leaves his apartment and goes into his office. He still has a few minutes and he doesn’t want to seem too eager.<em> If it were Bill you’d let yourself be early though. </em> He picks up his folio and stands staring out the window. He makes a frustrated noise and goes downstairs.</p><p>David is at the front doors, paying the delivery guy. He’s holding two pizza boxes with a drink tray balanced on top. Patrick greets him and takes the drink tray. </p><p>David says, “Thanks. Um. I’m thinking we should eat in studio two? There’s a table in there.” </p><p>“Sure, sure, sounds good.” </p><p> </p><p>***D***</p><p> </p><p>David manages to get the pizza boxes on the table without dropping them. He’s annoyed and jumpy. This is stupid. Meetings are stupid. Ray wanted meetings too and David was mostly able to dodge them or distract Ray. Evading Ray isn’t easy but getting him to talk about literally anything else is. </p><p>Except, Patrick wants this meeting. Patrick, in his little button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up over those heavy forearms. How does he manage to look both angelic and pornographic at the same time? With his big, soft eyes and his fucking mouth that looks capable of <em> anything. </em> </p><p>The hot business boy wants this meeting and David is becoming increasingly attracted to this hot business boy. Patrick is going to want to know what he wants and David doesn’t know. David just wants to paint and boss around his assistant and maybe sell some art. Why is that so hard to understand? Why did Ray tell Patrick he owned the building anyway? Fuck. </p><p>Patrick sits across from him at the dilapidated office table and sets his folio down in front of him.</p><p>David’s leg is bouncing under the table. “Can we eat and talk at the same time? I’m starving.” <em> And I don’t know what to say! </em></p><p>Patrick takes a sip from the cup David put in front of him. “You got me unsweetened ice tea?” </p><p>“Yeah, is that bad? I think I have sugar packets in my studio, I can…”</p><p>“No, no, it’s good, it’s what I would’ve ordered. Thank you.”</p><p>David is momentarily <em> very </em> pleased with himself, but his nerves quickly push that feeling aside.</p><p>Patrick eats one piece of pizza and reaches for his folio. David keeps eating, hoping it’ll keep him from asking questions.</p><p>Patrick looks at his notes. “Okay, I have some thoughts I’ve jotted down but I feel like I need to ask you a few questions first.” </p><p>
  <em> Fuck. </em>
</p><p>David takes a huge bite of pizza and chews, pointing at his mouth like he wouldn’t be so impolite as to talk with his mouth full. But instead of sharing any of his jotted down thoughts, Patrick just sits and watches him chew. This isn’t good. This isn’t what David wants at all. He finally swallows and takes a long sip of his drink. He sets his cup down and clears his throat and prepares to make a fool of himself because he doesn’t know anything about owning a building.</p><p>Patrick tilts his head and says, “You know what? Do you think we could wait for another time for  this discussion? If it’s okay with you, I think I’d rather just write up some things for you to go over and you can get a clearer idea of what I’m about. Would that be alright with you?”</p><p>Relief washes over David. He clears his throat again. He frowns and nods his head like he has to think about it. “Oh. Yes. I guess that would be fine.” He almost looks at his phone to check the time, like a dick, as if he has somewhere else to be. It’s a power move, <em> a dick move, </em> he would’ve done at his galleries. But he stops himself and just picks up another piece of pizza. Then they’re just chatting and having lunch. It’s much nicer than a <em> meeting </em>. </p><p> </p><p>***P***</p><p> </p><p>Patrick is nervous when he sits down. But he observes David’s knee bouncing under the table, and then he takes that ridiculously large bite of pizza to avoid talking. Patrick’s chest feels warm as understanding blooms.</p><p>Of course. David practically fell into ownership of this building. He’s an artist, not a business person. He probably doesn’t even know what questions to ask Patrick, much less answers to questions Patrick might ask him. So Patrick changes direction. </p><p>The relief on David's face feels like a reward. Patrick smiles and picks up his tea. He takes a sip and gestures around the room with the cup. “This is a great space. So big and airy.” </p><p>David nods. “I love the light here, the woods in back are just far enough off that they don’t block the sun at all by mid morning, then the place just lights up. Have you seen Margie’s studio?” </p><p>“I have! It’s breathtaking! Hey, do you mind if I open up the dock door?” </p><p>David shakes his head, and Patrick rolls up the door. He stands for a moment and admires the woods and then walks over to the piano. He plonks the sad keys and turns to David. “I bet the acoustics are fantastic in here.” </p><p>David gestures with his pizza slice, “They’re pretty good. It’d be a great space for small events, you know?”</p><p>Patrick smiles. The warmth in his chest expands a bit more. He comes back and sits at the table. “Oh yeah, I bet it would, I bet you could do all kinds of things in here.” Then he waits. </p><p>David continues, his eyes trailing around the room, bright and engaged. “I can see, like, hosting small musical performances in here. Oh, or a marketplace, with local crafters. There’s always good stuff at the farmer’s market but it’s outdoors so it depends on the weather.” </p><p> </p><p>Patrick's mouth drops open, he quickly snaps it shut. He says, evenly, “That’s a great idea.” It really is. It’s not something he would’ve come up with. Patrick’s fingers itch to take notes but he’s afraid David will stop talking. </p><p>David keeps talking, his hands, graceful in the air. “I see the whole building filled with creative people. We could collaborate on a big project or something. Share resources, support one another. We could have art shows here.  I’d love that.” His eyes are far off, dreamy, there’s a small, soft smile on his face that reveals his dimples. <em> Good god. </em></p><p>Patrick has to look away from David. He takes a bite of pizza and sips his drink and looks out the big door at the pretty woods and tries to keep his smile from splitting wide open. David is beautiful and creative and he has good ideas. Patrick likes him.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> (8:45pm) P. Brewer: Good meeting today. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (9:01pm) D. Rose: Was it though? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (9:02pm) P. Brewer: I thought so.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (9:05pm) D. Rose: Me too. </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>***D***</p><p> </p><p>Stevie taps on the bartop. “So how’d the meeting go yesterday with your new employee?”</p><p>David slides his shot glass back and forth on the bar. “It was fine.” </p><p>“You were pretty worked up about beforehand.”</p><p>“I wasn’t worked up. I just hate meetings in general. I don’t want to think about business stuff I just wanna paint.”</p><p>Stevie turns on her barstool and surveys the meager assortment of randoms at The Wobbly Elm. “You used to just get Ray to talk about something else, did you try that with Patrick?”</p><p>“I didn’t have to. He started out businessy, but then asked if he could just write up a proposal for me to go over. He said it’d give me a <em> clearer idea of what he’s about. </em>” David makes finger quotes. “Then we just had lunch and talked. It was nice.” </p><p>“You want a <em> clearer idea of what he’s about </em> don’t you?”</p><p>“Oh, I think I’m clear. He <em> looks so </em>straight. I mean, everything about his presentation—”</p><p>“You know it’s a bad idea to assume anything, David. You said he flirts.” </p><p>“Yeah, but some straight men can do that. Flirting is fun. A delightful energy exchange between two people. It doesn’t always translate to <em> I wanna suck your cock </em>, you know?” </p><p>“But you wanna suck his cock.”</p><p>“You should see him in his running shorts Stevie, the boy’s packing some heat. No, though, no. Him flirting doesn’t mean <em> he </em> wants to suck <em> my </em> cock.” </p><p>“Why don’t you just ask him.”</p><p>David looks appalled. “If he wants to suck my cock?!” </p><p>“No! For fucks sake, ask him his preferences!” </p><p>“Oh, yeah, I guess I could. But he sort of works for me and he lives in my building. It seems...inappropriate? Maybe? The Antoni thing...” </p><p>“Antoni was an asshole David.” </p><p>“I’ll drink to that.” David shoots back his polar bear shot.</p><p>Stevie does the same, and signals the bartender for another round. “Is Patrick an asshole?”</p><p>David shrugs. “I hardly know him, but it doesn't seem like it. He seems, I don’t know. Nice.”</p><p>“Nice.” </p><p>“Yeah. Nice. I think I’m going to just wait and see? So far, he’s fun to flirt with and really nice to look at, it doesn't have to be more.”</p><p>“He’s <em> nice </em> to look at.”</p><p>David knows she’s poking at him, trying to find a crack she can jam her fingers into and pry out something incriminating so she can tease him. He knocks back his shot. “Stevie, is there a single dick in this place that you wanna touch?”</p><p>"Nope.”</p><p>“Me neither. Let’s go.”</p><p> </p><p>***P***</p><p> </p><p>It’s been a long, productive day. Patrick is pleased with the proposal he’s drawn up for David. He hasn’t seen him today, which is fine. It’s fine. He thought about him though. When he woke up. During his run. When he showered after his run. Patrick shakes his head at himself. He’s been masturbating <em> a lot </em> since he got here. He busies himself with putting the finishing touches on a spreadsheet for a preventative maintenance schedule for the building. </p><p>By five, Patrick is finished with work and he listens for music from David’s studio. Nothing. The thrill he was feeling the day before, seems far off and less tangible. David is, most likely, not thinking about him the same way. He didn’t come in today. He hasn’t texted. Patrick prints out the proposal and tucks it in a big manila envelope. He goes downstairs and slides the envelope under David’s door. </p><p>It doesn’t help that Patrick hasn’t spoken to a single soul today. That forlorn press of loneliness against his chest happens again as he makes himself dinner. He reads a book while he eats and then forces himself to bed early.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Take Me to your River</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>***P*** </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> (Go it Alone by Beck) </em>
</p><p>It’s Saturday morning and Patrick is running. He’s on his third circuit of the three mile loop. It’s more than he wants to do, but he’s overwhelmed by the long day stretching ahead of him. When he started his run, he’d seen Jake out on the dock. Jake raised his hand in greeting, but said nothing. Just watched him run by. Patrick waved back and ran right past him. </p><p>He knows that he could stop at Jake’s studio after his run. He’s fairly certain he knows what would happen. Jake emits pheromones like a pyroclastic flow, of course he knows what would happen. He knows he could indulge in his company, and is frankly surprised at how little it tempts him. Patrick runs. He passes two women, jogging in the opposite direction. They light up smiles for him and say hello. Patrick can’t hear them with his ear buds in but he smiles and runs. Patrick runs. </p><p>He showers and goes into his office where he pokes around the internet, looking at art grants. He fills out a few applications but doesn’t send them. He doesn’t want to be presumptuous. He goes down to the supply closet to get some window cleaner and cleans his office window and the windows in his apartment. He knocks on David’s studio door when he takes the window cleaner back to the closet but he’s not there. </p><p>He drives to Elmdale and goes to the laundromat. He picks up a few groceries. He calls his mom. It’s a very long day. He’s trying to decide what to do about dinner when his phone pings.</p><p>
  <em> (4:58pm) Brian Teller: Hey Pat, I’m just leaving work, can I call you when I get home? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (4:58pm) P. Brewer: Hi! Of course.  </em>
</p><p>Patrick hesitates, he taps out <em> I miss you </em> but then back spaces over it, and writes something else. </p><p>
  <em> (4:59pm) P. Brewer: I look forward to it. </em>
</p><p>Patrick tries not to feel too eager. Neither he nor Brian had wanted to continue their fledgling relationship long distance. It’s still nice to hear from a familiar someone on this long, lonely day.</p><p>Patrick decides he’ll go out for dinner at the Cafe after he talks to Brian. He’s been rambling around his apartment in sweats so he puts on a pair of jeans and a dark blue t-shirt. He knows if he’s dressed and has a plan, he’ll feel better. He grabs a beer from his refrigerator and sits down to wait. He feels that mournful pressure on his chest again and he takes a deep pull on his beer. </p><p>When his phone finally rings, Patrick makes himself wait three rings before he answers.</p><p>“Hey, Brian.” Patrick's voice is warm. </p><p>“Hey Patrick! How’s Schitt’s Creek?”</p><p><em> It’s good to hear your voice </em>.</p><p>“It’s good so far. I like the town. It’s small and a little weird but I’m into it. How are you?”</p><p>“I’m okay.” </p><p>Patrick waits for him to say more and when he doesn’t, he closes his eyes. “Okay?”</p><p>“Yeah, I’m okay. I, uh.”</p><p><em> Fuck. </em> Why is this making him so sad? Patrick knew this wasn’t going to be a thing. He and Brian aren’t a thing. They parted as friends. They’re friends. His heart feels heavy anyway. </p><p>He makes sure none of that comes through in his voice.  “What’s going on Brian? You wanted to talk?” </p><p>“Yeah, Patrick. Yes. In the spirit of us staying friends and always being completely open, I wanted to let you know that I’m going to start seeing someone. Um. I mean, it’s probably weird, but I thought I should let you know? I’m sorry. I’m being weird.”</p><p>Patrick keeps his voice light, “You’re not! I mean, it’s not necessary, but it’s nice that you want to tell me Bri. It’s what friends do, right? It’s all good. I’m glad you’re getting out there.” And he<em> is </em> glad, genuinely, sincerely glad. <em> But it’s only been a week, damn! </em>He shakes away the thought.</p><p>“Thanks, Pat. I feel like touching base with you will help me be brave enough to be as open as we were on our first date.”</p><p>Patrick softens. “Aw. Hey, just blurt everything out. Truly. I think we learned it’s just easier to get it all out in the beginning, yeah? It certainly will save you time if this guy isn’t for you.” </p><p>“Right, right. Thank you for the reminder Patrick. So how about you?  I’m sure you’re the new hot guy in town everyone is talking about. I’m sure the guys are—”</p><p>Patrick cuts him off, “Yeah, thanks man. If anyone is talking I haven’t heard it! No prospects for me yet but, um, I gotta go okay? I’m about to go out for dinner so…”</p><p>“Oh. Okay. Keep in touch, Patrick.”</p><p>“Yep, sure will. Talk to you later.”</p><p>Patrick hangs up and finishes his beer. He knows what he’s feeling has nothing to do with Brian. He knows it’s about all the changes he’d brought upon himself by coming here. It’s about a new job in a new town, moving away from his family and the friends he’d had since childhood. It’s about being lonely for the first time in his life. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>***D***</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> (6:00pm) LongJake: Meet me at the Cafe at 7? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (6:05pm) D. Rose: Sure.  </em>
</p><p>Well that’s different. Usually, Jake just texts him, <em> Come over </em> or <em> What r u up to? </em> And then they hook up. They’ve never had a meal together. Maybe Jake wants more? That’d be weird. Jake is hot, but honestly what are they even going to talk about? Only one way to find out.</p><p>David gets ready for his date. He wants to text Stevie. She’s the only one he could tell about this new development. He could ask her what she thinks it means. He could ask her if she thinks he wants more. But he can’t. Because Stevie is sleeping with Jake too. And if Jake wants something more with David, then he might want to break up with Stevie. She’d been talking cryptically about knowing if someone wants to break up. Ugh. David does not like the way this feels. </p><p> </p><p>***P***</p><p> </p><p>Patrick pulls on his shoes and goes out the door. He drives to the Café and eats dinner at the counter. The waitress, Twyla, is pretty and a pure sweetheart and also, weird. She hurt her ankle, so she spends almost his entire dinner across the counter from him. Patrick is startled by her stories, but basks in her kindness. </p><p>He takes his time, he reads the news on his phone and nurses a beer. He really doesn’t want to go home yet. After his beer is empty though, it just feels weird to just keep hanging around, so he gets up to leave. He looks around the Café as he heads toward the door. There’s a gorgeous, brunette woman sitting alone in a booth, and Patrick shakes his head in wonder. How can a town this small have so many attractive people in it? </p><p>He walks out the door and narrowly misses plowing right into David Rose. </p><p>“Hey!” David yelps, surprised.</p><p>Patrick hasn’t seen him in two days and he wants to throw his arms around him. “Uh, Hey, David.” He steps back and looks David up and down. “Wow, you look. Uh, you look very nice.” <em>Nice. He looks good enough to eat.</em></p><p>Patrick has never seen David outside the studio and he is taken aback by this version of him. David is put together. Like, put <em> all the way </em> together. He smells incredible. His hair and stubble are artfully groomed. Big silver rings flash on his right hand. Two on his middle finger, two on his index finger. He’s wearing black jeans and a black sweater with a dense, white pattern all over it. Geometric shapes, letters and zigzags, and big spirals on his chest. There’s a perfect circle on the collar, right at the base of his throat. Patrick has a hard time looking away from it. David is stunning and Patrick is dazzled.</p><p>David looks down shyly, then looks up through his lashes. He says, “Hi, Patrick. Thank you.” </p><p>Patrick’s loneliness is making him feel reckless. Words fly up his throat. <em> I have a crush on you. Come home with me. You’re beautiful. I want you. </em>Instead, he bites his tongue and smirks. “It’s a good look. For the Café.” </p><p>David narrows his eyes at him. “I’m meeting someone.” </p><p>Patrick’s heart sinks fast, pulling his smile down with it. Of course he is. Of course David has a date, looking like that. Patrick plasters on a smile that he can’t feel in his eyes. “Oh that’s nice. Have a good night David.”</p><p>He makes himself walk away. He wanted to say,<em> lucky them! </em> about David’s date. He wanted to ask if it was with the raven-haired beauty he saw inside. He’d wanted to hold David’s attention for just a little longer.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> ***D*** </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em> Well, this has been a great evening for sure, </em> David thinks. The beginning hadn’t been bad. Running into Patrick outside the Café was a nice surprise. David really liked the way Patrick looked at him and teased. But as soon as he said he was meeting someone, Patrick’s smile looked forced and he just walked away. That was just the start. Stevie was there to meet Jake too. It was merely uncomfortable until Jake showed up and made it infinitely worse. Fucking Jake. Just another dissatisfied lover wanting to throuple. </p><p>He and Stevie have dinner together after Jake leaves. It’s awkward at first, but fine. Jake’s proposition didn’t bother Stevie that much, but she remembers their conversation about Antoni and she rails against the very suggestion that either one of them is a less than overwhelming sex partner. She’s so extra about it that they end up laughing uncontrollably.  </p><p>While they wait for the bill, David tells Stevie that he’d run into Patrick coming in. </p><p>“That was Patrick?”</p><p>“You saw him?”</p><p>“Yeah, pretty sure. Short hair, not tall, but nice bod, yeah? Giant Care Bear eyes?”</p><p>“Ew, Stevie. Don’t say Care Bear eyes, it’s creepy.”</p><p>“That was him though right? Jeans, dark blue t-shirt?”</p><p>David sighs dreamily. It’s unconscious and very revealing. “Yeah, that was him.”</p><p>Stevie suppresses a smile. “You should get on that.”</p><p>“I can’t. I’m pretty sure he’s straight, <em> and </em>I’m his boss apparently.” </p><p>Stevie rolls her eyes. “Whose rule is that?”</p><p>“I don’t know. It’s just <em> the </em>rule isn’t it?” </p><p>“Not if neither of you has said it, it’s not!” </p><p>“It might be his rule though.<em> And </em>he’s probably straight!” David avoids bringing up the probability of him fucking it up.</p><p>They pay the bill and go. They’re sitting in Stevie’s car and she says, “You’re being ridiculous. If you like him, ask him his preferences and get after it. He’s cute as a fucking button. Motel, studio, or my place?” Stevie is great at getting the last word.</p><p>“Can you take me to the studio?” </p><p>Of course she can and she does. She parks by the door and looks at David in the dark car. </p><p>“I’m sorry about the Jake thing David.” </p><p>“Stop it. I know. It’s fine. I would've done the same, I told you.”</p><p>“We’re good?”</p><p>“We’re always good Stevie.”</p><p>They’ve reached the limit of their tolerance for sincerity, so David gets out of the car. He unlocks the door to the building, and turns to wave at Stevie. She waves and drives away. It creeps him out to be in this building all alone. It’s nice to know that Patrick is up in three. </p><p>He opens up his studio. He leaves all the other lights off, and turns on a tall task lamp. He thinks about painting but he’s not feeling it yet. He starts to sit on the ladder but he doesn’t want to get his black jeans dirty. He rolls the futon over instead. He points the lamp at his painting and sits, staring, without seeing.  </p><p>It’s not like he’s heartbroken or anything. It was never like that with Jake. He wasn’t even surprised that Jake was also sleeping with Stevie, not really. But this. This invitation to throuple up with Jake and Stevie was just a little much. Antoni had wanted to add a third because he ‘missed all that young skin’. That summer he’d spent on Cypress, Ara and Bella wanted to add a fourth to <em> keep it interesting </em> . Sebastien was more than willing to share him, saying, <em> you’re too much for me alone David, you need too much </em>. David is simultaneously too much and not enough apparently and he’s tired of it. </p><p> </p><p>***P***</p><p> </p><p>Patrick gets back to his apartment and goes into the kitchen. David’s apology wine is still on the counter. The little slip of paper with his coffee order is sitting next to it. He picks up the paper and sets it back down.  </p><p>Patrick wanders the empty building for a while. He has a master key so he does go into studio two. He runs his hand over the keys of the woefully out of tune piano. God, it’d be great to just play right now. Wail out a song. He listens outside David’s studio. It’s quiet. Of course David isn’t here. He’s out on a date with that beautiful woman from the Cafe. They’re probably drinking and laughing. They’re probably fucking. </p><p>Patrick heaves a sigh. He suddenly feels twitchy and uncomfortable in his skin. Now he can’t stop thinking about sex. Specifically, loud, uninhibited sex. Brian and he, they’d been so tentative, so reserved. Patrick wants something else. Something more. Something loud and expressive. Something like David.</p><p>He goes back up to his apartment and plays on his phone. He tunes his guitar and runs through a few songs. He scrolls through Netflix on his laptop and finds a stand up comic’s one hour special and he hits play. He barely pays attention to any of it. He still feels restless and uncomfortable. It’s getting late when he gives in and switches to porn. It’s five minutes of awful dialogue then it’s all cock and ass and thrusting and moaning. </p><p>Patrick closes his eyes and just listens. The moans, the wet kissing and sucking noises, the slap of skin on skin. The sounds ripple through him, lighting up every nerve. He has his hand down his pants, stroking his length. He closes the laptop abruptly. He doesn’t want to come like this, still dressed, sitting on his bed. </p><p> </p><p>He strips and gets in the shower to finish himself off. He thinks of David and that groan of frustration he made the other day when Evan dropped his coffee order. That sound. Fuck. That sound. Patrick mimics it. His hips jerk involuntarily and the sound breaks in his throat with a hard gasp. He does it again, low moan, in the back of his throat. He thrusts into his hand. He’s unprepared for the way the sound and movement intensifies his orgasm. His body spasms, his skin prickles with goosebumps as it shakes through him. Patrick’s body relaxes and his mind calms as he cleans himself up. He lets the hot water beat on his back, relaxing him further. Maybe he’ll be able to sleep now. </p><p>He turns off the water and hears music coming from David’s studio. He smiles.</p><p> </p><p>***D***</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> (Way down we go by KALEO) </em>
</p><p>David is playing on his phone, when he finally gets fed up with being in his own head. He should do something. He should paint. He turns on his painting playlist. He stands in front of the painting and lets the music flow over him. He starts moving subtly, rocking forward and back with the beat. </p><p> </p><p>He puts both hands on the cool, dry canvas. He’s missed something on this layer. It needs something. He pulls in a slow, deep breath and closes his eyes against the ache that blooms in his chest. He runs his fingers along the brush strokes, tracing down the lines where paint has dripped and ran. Moving closer to the canvas, he puts his cheek against it and spreads both arms, with his hands splayed out. Hoping it’ll sink into him. Or maybe he’ll sink into it. It’s missing something. It needs something strong to anchor it but more than anything, it needs to be accessible, light and open, reachable. </p><p> </p><p>***P***</p><p> </p><p>Patrick gets dressed in a hurry and goes out his door. He makes it halfway down the stairs and goes back up and grabs the bottle of apology wine. </p><p>David’s studio door isn’t open but Patrick can see that it’s not latched. He knocks softly and the door swings open a little. David doesn’t hear him. He’s still in his date clothes. He’s touching his painting, running his hands over it. He leans into the canvas and spreads his arms wide. Patrick holds his breath. He’s only ever made music. He’s never made this kind of art. But he understands the impulse on a deep level and he swallows around a sudden lump in his throat.</p><p>He flushes with shame for watching this private moment. He backs up and pulls the door to where it was before. Maybe he shouldn’t bother David tonight. Patrick goes back to the stairs and climbs three before turning around and going back down. <em> Why can’t I leave him alone? </em> He stands at the bottom of the stairs until he hears the song reach its end. He goes to David’s door and raps hard on the door jam, he doesn’t want the door to swing open. </p><p>“David?” Patrick calls out. </p><p>“Patrick?” </p><p>Patrick smiles to himself. He still doesn’t enter the room. He calls out, “Yeah it’s me. Can I come in?”</p><p>“Yeah, of course, come in.” </p><p>When Patrick pushes the door open, David is standing by the futon, arms crossed in front of his chest. He looks shy. Uncertain. It’s unsettling.</p><p>Patrick takes a few steps into the room. “Are you sure? I don’t want to interrupt…”</p><p>David drops his arms and makes an impatient gesture. “No, it’s fine. Please.”</p><p>“You want a drink?” Patrick holds out the bottle. </p><p>David smiles a little, recognizing the wine. “Are you sure you want to share that with me? It’s supposed to be for when you’re pissed at me for waking you up.” His eyes go wide and he grimaces, “Oh fuck, did I wake you?” </p><p>“No, no I was up.” He flushes warm, remembering what he’d been doing, and who he’d been thinking about, less than ten minutes ago. </p><p>David takes the bottle from Patrick’s hands and motions for him to sit on the futon. Patrick sits. With his beautiful clothes and perfectly groomed hair, David seems like a stranger. He’s nothing like the powerhouse of energy Patrick saw his first night here, or the charmer who had flirted with him on the dock. </p><p>This is not the creative man that sat with him in studio two and dreamed aloud, while his hands danced. This David is subdued. He seems sad and unsure of himself. Patrick watches him as he moves to the kitchenette, opens the wine and pours them both a glass. He even moves differently. Like he doesn't want to take up too much space. </p><p> </p><p>***D***</p><p> </p><p>David hands Patrick his glass and sits down. He wishes he’d been painting. He likes the way Patrick looks at him when he’s in his paint clothes. He feels safer with a paint brush in his hand, more in control. They sip in silence and David marinates in his discomfort. </p><p>Finally Patrick asks, “So how was your date?”</p><p>“Ugh. Not a date. Not what I thought.”</p><p>“Oh no. I’m sorry.”</p><p>“Oh, it’s fine. It was never a love connection or anything.” Maybe if he can get Patrick talking he won’t be tempted to talk himself. “How about you, how was your night?”</p><p> </p><p>***P***</p><p> </p><p>At this point Patrick is starving for connection. He starts out just trying to be sarcastic. “Oh it’s been outstanding. I didn’t speak to a single person yesterday, and today I learned the guy I was dating before I moved here, is already seeing someone else.” But he ends up babbling. “I had dinner at the Café alone, where I listened to some truly disturbing stories from the waitress. I drank a couple of beers and watched garbage on my laptop, took a— and now I’m here.” He takes a big swig of wine. He doesn’t want to look at David. </p><p>David clears his throat. “Oh, I didn’t know you were… um. I’m sorry the guy you were seeing has already moved on. You’ve only been here a week. That seems kind of fast.” </p><p>“RIGHT?!” David’s eyes get big at his volume. “Sorry, sorry. I know right? I mean, we didn’t have a love connection either, and it was nice that he even told me but…” Goddammit. This is not what Patrick wants to do. He’d come down here hoping to flirt with David, feel his warmth, get that boost from holding his attention. Here he is moaning about Brian. For fuck’s sake. </p><p>“Well.” David says lightly, “The guy I was fucking invited me into a throuple with my best friend.” </p><p>Patrick tilts his head and frowns. “A throuple… what?” </p><p>David isn’t looking at him. He has his eyes on his painting. His voice sounds falsely bright.</p><p>“Yes. The man I was fucking? He was also fucking someone else. Which, not a big deal. I didn’t expect exclusivity with him. I was, however, <em> hoping </em> that I’d be enough, you know, to hold his complete attention while we were actually fucking, and that he wouldn’t need another person <em> in the bed </em> with us.”</p><p>“Well damn, that’s insane.” Patrick drinks more wine. <em> How on earth could anyone need more than this guy in their bed?  </em>“I’m sorry that happened to you.” </p><p>“It’s fine, I don’t really care.” David takes a drink too. </p><p>Patrick turns his body toward David, draping his arm across the back of the futon. “You deserve way better than that.”</p><p> </p><p>***D***</p><p> </p><p>David is a bit dazed by all this new input. Patrick likes men. Patrick thinks David deserves better. Patrick is right there, looking all relaxed and stupidly hot in his t-shirt and jeans. Not to mention, how close they’re sitting, in his shadowy studio, drinking wine. </p><p>He makes himself respond. “Well, thanks. That’s a lovely thing to say, but not at all true.”</p><p>Patrick makes a disbelieving face at him. “Come on! You don’t think you deserve someone’s full attention?” </p><p>“Well… I’m…”  David <em> really </em> doesn’t know how this conversation got so earnest. He shrugs. </p><p>Patrick frowns. “You have to know…”</p><p>When he doesn't finish his thought, David prompts. “What do I know?”</p><p>“I don’t know. You should paint. You should paint right now and think about it.”</p><p>David blinks and frowns. “Well. One: I don’t paint in front of people. And B: What does that even mean?”</p><p>Patrick shrugs with one shoulder. “I don’t know, it just seems like Painter David might have a different opinion than this David.” He gestures vaguely in David’s direction.</p><p>David speaks softly into his wine glass. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” </p><p>But he does. He knows something happens when he paints. He’s stunned by Patrick’s ability to see it. It’s deeply thrilling. It’s also unnerving, because when he paints, David becomes what he’d like to think of as his truest self. Strong, confident, unrestrained. It’s his favorite version of himself and there is an intense, magnetic pull to Patrick’s recognition.</p><p>Patrick looks uncomfortable. “I don’t know. I’m sorry, I’m talking nonsense. I’ll shut up.”  He downs the last of his wine, and shifts forward like he’s going to get up. Like he’s going to leave. </p><p>David finishes his wine and holds his glass out to Patrick. “Fill me up too please?”</p><p> </p><p>***P***</p><p> </p><p>Patrick pauses on the edge of the futon. <em> Okay. </em> He’d been ready to leave. Everything had felt awkward to begin with, and <em> Painter David </em> is way too intimate a thing to say out loud. So he was going to go back to his apartment and try to forget that he’d said something so personal to him. But David, very clearly, doesn’t want him to go.</p><p>He takes David’s glass and goes to the kitchen. The lighting is weird. The studio is dark except for the big work lamp pointed at the painting, which stands tall between the futon and the kitchen. The kitchen itself is in deep shadow behind the painting, with just enough light for Patrick to pour more wine.</p><p>When he walks back around the easel wall, the light blazes in his eyes, and he stops. “Okay. I’m blind now.” </p><p>From beyond the glare he hears, “Follow my voice.”</p><p>David’s voice is low. Patrick’s stomach flips. He squints against the light and takes a step. </p><p>“You’re good Patrick, there’s nothing in front of you, that’s it’s, two more, yep, there you go.”</p><p>Patrick passes the standing lamp, the glare is out of his eyes and David is standing right in front of him. Patrick’s breath catches. David is beautiful in the reflected light. So Patrick lets himself look at him. Clear, intelligent eyes. Hair that begs to be touched. Deliberate stubble. And his fucking mouth. Patrick glances at David’s lips. </p><p>A long moment stretches out before Patrick presses the wine glass into his hand. David takes the glass but keeps looking into Patrick’s eyes. Patrick is about to speak when David steps toward him, cups his jaw and kisses him. </p><p>It’s brief and innocent and completely electrifying. </p><p>When David pulls away, Patrick just stares at him, mouth open in surprise.</p><p> </p><p>***D***</p><p> </p><p>David is shocked at himself. <em> What? What the fuck just happened? </em></p><p>David takes a step back and touches his upper lip with his fingertips. “Oh. My god. Patrick. I am so sorry! That was. That was—”</p><p>“It’s uh. Wow. Um. Yeah. It’s okay! I uh—” Patrick takes a half step toward him.</p><p>David steps back. “Um. No. That was so inappropriate of me! You’re like, my employee, and I just kiss you like that? No. That’s not okay!” David is waving his free hand and gesturing with his glass.<em> Fuck! </em></p><p>Patrick is blushing and has the sweetest, sexiest smile on his face and David wants to kiss him again. Patrick, bless him, makes a joke. “Hey, it’s okay. It happens to everyone within a week of knowing me. I either get kissed or threatened with bodily harm.” </p><p>David is so relieved, so grateful that Patrick isn’t making a big deal of this. He relaxes a little. “Kiss or kill then? No in-between?” </p><p>Patrick shakes his head. “No in-between. You passed the test! It’s really the better option for our working relationship. It’s been hard to concentrate on my spreadsheets, waiting for you to pull a knife on me.” The hand not holding the wine glass is jammed deep in his pocket. His blush is fading.</p><p>David sits down and gestures for Patrick to do the same. “So, is it just the one test or is it an ongoing thing?”</p><p>Patrick sits and smiles. “Just the one test.”</p><p>“So, my status won’t change at some point? Like, in the next hour, or week or something, you’re sure I won’t pull a knife on you?</p><p>“Nope. It happens in the first few days of knowing me.” </p><p>“And I won't accidentally kiss you again? Should I wear a muzzle? Or that thing that Hannibal Lector wore?” David shudders. “Ew. I am not wearing that.”</p><p>Patrick shakes his head. “No, no. Don’t wear one of those. I don’t think you’d find one to match the whole—” he waves a hand at David’s clothes. “—vibe you’ve got going on. We’ll just have to, um, take the risk.” He looks pointedly at David’s mouth, then looks away. </p><p><em> Holy hell </em>. David’s voice is rough. “Yeah, it would not go with my aesthetic.” </p><p>They both sip their wine. David clears his throat. “So, tell me about the guy who’s already moved on.” </p><p>Patrick squirms a little. “Brian, first guy I dated.” </p><p>“So you were together a long time then?”</p><p>“Um, it was like, six weeks.”</p><p>“Six weeks. Patrick...” It’s all David can think to say.<em> First guy? Six weeks? </em></p><p>“I know, I know. Long story.” Patrick takes a drink.</p><p>“Patrick. How long have you...?</p><p>Patrick looks up, calculating. “Um.” He clears his throat and closes his eyes. “I realized that I’m gay about six months ago.” He keeps his eyes closed.</p><p>“Oh my god, Patrick. I am really, <em>really</em> sorry I kissed you!”</p><p>Patrick opens his eyes again and shakes his head. “David. Stop. It’s not like I hadn’t thought about…”</p><p>David smiles and frowns at the same time. “Okay. But consent—”</p><p>“Seriously. If you’d asked permission, I… I would’ve given it to you.” Patrick gets shy and looks away from him.</p><p>Oh my fucking god, this man. “It’s just. Patrick, it’s just that I’m supposedly your employer. I can’t have you thinking that you’re required—”</p><p>Patrick looks like he’s done with being serious, his brows are up and his eyes are wide. “Oh! Okay, good! That’s good to know, because Ray didn’t ask for my sexual resume and you may not have hired me if you’d seen that.” Patrick claps a hand to his forehead. “I can’t believe I just said that!” </p><p>David laughs. God, Patrick’s so pretty, blushing like that. Then he thinks about Ray, tutting at Patrick’s lack of sexual experience. Oh god. Checking things, acts, off a list. He shakes his head to clear the thought.</p><p>Patrick is shaking his head at himself “Let’s just blow right by that, shall we? For the sake of my dignity. Change of subject! Please tell me, who’s this ridiculous person that can’t focus?”</p><p>David pulls his head back, confused. “Who can’t focus?” </p><p>“The guy, the guy.” Patrick gestures with his wine glass. “The guy who wants to throuple you.” </p><p>“Oh. I don’t think I want to talk about that.” David frowns. “What do you mean he can’t focus?”</p><p>Patrick tilts his chin down. “Mm, kinda sounds like you do want to talk about it...” Patrick is being cute. David likes it. </p><p>David rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “I can talk about <em> it</em>. I just don’t want to talk about <em> who.</em>” </p><p>“David, I don’t know anybody in this town. I’m not going to recognize the name.”</p><p>David presses his lips together and just looks at him.</p><p>“Wait, I <em> would </em> recognize the name?” Patrick looks a little too gleeful.</p><p>David closes his eyes and shakes his head some more.</p><p>“Oh my god, it’s Jake!” Patrick barks a laugh, then says seriously, “Unless it’s Ray.” Then his full throated laughter fills the room. </p><p>David swipes at him, slapping at his arm. “Ew, Patrick! No! It’s not Ray!” But he laughs too, he can’t help it. Patrick’s laugh is gorgeous. David pushes at his shoulder. “Okay, pull yourself together, you’re not that funny. What do you mean, can’t focus?” </p><p>Patrick considers him warmly for a moment. “Jake obviously has a problem with focus, if he has <em> you </em> in his bed, and somehow needs a third person in there.” Patrick looks into his wine glass. He takes a leisurely sip, and looks at David.</p><p> </p><p>David’s heart is fluttering. The spark in his low belly flares, bright and hot. That was a very sweet thing for Patrick to say. And hot. Because now David is thinking about Patrick focusing on him in bed. Patrick might be thinking about it too because he’s kind of blushing again which is also very hot. If he doesn’t change the subject he’s going to pounce on this innocent boy.</p><p>David clears his throat. “How did you meet Brian?”</p><p> </p><p>***P***</p><p> </p><p>Patrick’s brain stutters at the quick subject change. He is relieved for the most part, because if he thinks about <em> David in bed </em>any longer, there will literally be hard evidence of how he feels about such a scenario. </p><p>On the other hand, he’s never talked to anyone about Brian specifically or dating men in general. He knows he’s probably going to share too much. </p><p>“We met on a dating app.” </p><p>David nods his head, clearly expecting him to continue, and when he doesn’t, he asks, “What was he like?”</p><p>Patrick narrows his eyes at David. “What was Jake like?”</p><p>David cocks an eyebrow. “Oh, no you don’t, that’s not a proportional quid pro quo. <em> We met on a dating app,” </em> David uses a goofy voice and makes finger quotes, “is not going to get you salacious details about what Jake is <em> like </em>.”</p><p>Patrick laughs. He can’t help it. David is funny, and so damn pretty. Patrick just wants to keep playing with him. David kissed him! He’ll tell him anything. It doesn’t matter. “Brian is a manager at a big box store. He says he likes foreign films but I don’t think he actually does, I think he thinks he’s supposed to like them, and golf, he likes golf. He’s quiet and kind.”</p><p>“What did you have in common?”</p><p>Patrick just looks at David, takes a sip of his wine and waits.</p><p>“Oh okay. What’s Jake like? Jake is just really hot. I don’t think he’s a stupid man but I don’t think there’s a ton of emotional depth there. He’s not unkind but doesn’t care about anything. He just likes sex. All the sex, with all the people.” </p><p>“Brian and I didn’t really have a lot in common. We like the same books. We were both very newly out and neither of us had much… had dated much.” Patrick feels the blush coming on. He wants to keep talking because he’s afraid if he stops David is going to tell him what he has in common with Jake, and it’s going to be <em> all the sex with all the people. </em>Then they’ll be sitting there with a huge gap in their experience levels out there for the world to see and Patrick can’t stand it, so he keeps talking. </p><p>“Um, I already knew I was moving away when we met, and I was up front about it, so we had an expiration date from the beginning. It was actually really freeing. It’s sort of what connected us. Just this direct sort of truth telling. There was nothing at stake so we could say pretty much anything to one another. He was, and is, a good friend.”</p><p>David gives him a sly smile. “So you were friends with benefits…”</p><p>Patrick blurts. He doesn't intend to say it, but it’s coming out of his mouth before he can stop it. “Friends with a <em> few </em> benefits. We didn’t— we didn’t do...all the benefits. Hardly any at all when you consider...” Oh my god why can’t he shut the fuck up? This conversation is getting away from him. Patrick is blushing so hard he can feel the heat radiating off his face and chest. </p><p>“When you consider what?” David’s face is blandly neutral but his eyes are too bright. The troll.</p><p>Somehow, without even thinking, Patrick deadpans, “When you consider the endless—” Patrick pauses. “—<em> possibilities </em>.” His voice rasps on the word and he is completely shocked at himself. But he’s de-fucking-lighted to see David’s mouth drop open. Patrick throws back his head and laughs. </p><p>David squeaks, “Oh my god!” He swats at Patrick’s arm again. It makes Patrick laugh even harder. And then David is laughing too and it’s wonderful.</p><p>Their laughter winds down and they lapse into a comfortable silence, the awkwardness from earlier is gone. They look at the painting for a while. </p><p>Finally David says, “I know what you meant.”</p><p>“About what?”</p><p>“When you said <em> Painter David</em>. I know what you’re talking about.”</p><p>Patrick is immensely pleased. “Hm. I thought you might. I <em> do </em> kind of get it you know.”</p><p>“How? I barely get it.”</p><p>He’s surprised when he doesn’t hesitate. Rachel had not understood this at all. He’s sure David will. “For me, it’s about having that one thing that’s just mine, no matter what. The thing that makes me feel real and like my best self.” Rachel never got why <em> she </em> wasn’t that one thing for him. “It’s like having a rare and secret language.” He ducks his head slightly at that last. He has never voiced that particular thought before. But David doesn’t laugh or question it. </p><p>David stares at him for a long minute before quietly asking, “You have that? What thing?” </p><p>“I play music. Piano, guitar…” </p><p>“Really? That’s impress— wait, are you good though?”</p><p>Patrick smiles. “I’ve been playing piano since I was eight. Taught myself guitar at twelve? Thirteen maybe? I’m okay.” </p><p>“So there’s a <em> Musical Patrick </em> I haven’t met yet, is that what you mean?”</p><p>God, he likes this guy so much. “Yeah.”</p><p>David sits up straight and opens his eyes wide. “Do you have a guitar?”</p><p>Patrick has to grin at him, he is so goddamn cute. “Yeah, upstairs.” </p><p>David makes a what-are-you-waiting-for gesture. “Well, go get it!” </p><p>“Really? I don’t know David...” Oh, but he does know. Patrick wants to play for him. </p><p>“Look, I don’t let people watch me paint but I’ll make you a deal. You play and I’ll paint. I’ll be Painter David if you’ll introduce him to Musical Patrick.” </p><p>When Patrick comes back down with his guitar, David has changed out of his designer clothes. He’s wearing the white, paint speckled jeans and a loose, black t-shirt with the collar cut out in a way that reveals the lovely ridge of his collarbones and the lean muscle of his traps.<em> Christ. </em>His confidence has returned as well and Patrick thinks he may just faint at the way David looks at him when he comes through the door.</p><p> </p><p>***D***</p><p> </p><p>David doesn’t know what came over him. He never lets people watch him paint. It’s way too personal. But Patrick sees him. Now he wants to see Patrick. </p><p>Good god, why does just holding a guitar make Patrick so much hotter? <em> Musical Patrick </em> is why. David hasn’t met him yet. And what a lovely thing, that Patrick understands this. Patrick understands having this secret, wordless language. David is stunned by the precision of his description. </p><p>David watches him settle into the futon and arrange the instrument on his lap, relaxed and sure. “What are you going to play?” </p><p>“Don’t know yet. What’re you gonna paint?” He’s looking up at David through his lashes. His eyes sparkle. </p><p> </p><p>“Ah, okay, yep. I won’t bother you.” He turns his back to Patrick then and looks at his canvas. It’s eight by eight feet of chaotic marks in Payne’s grey and swaths of zinc white, charcoal hash marks and squirrely swirls. Patrick starts tuning the guitar. He can feel Patrick behind him. Every time he plucks a string he can feel it on his skin. David takes a breath and focuses on his one thing.</p><p>He pulls his work table closer and picks up a bottle of translucent cobalt blue paint and hooks a finger under the trigger of a spray bottle. He examines his brushes and finally settles on a fat mop brush. He climbs up the ladder and gets to work.</p><p>Patrick doodles around a bit and strums a few chords and finally starts playing something that sounds purposeful. </p><p>
  <em> (River by Leon Bridges) </em>
</p><p><em> Oh. He can really play. </em> The sound washes over David’s skin. He takes what feels like the first complete breath of the day, and leans into his work. </p><p>Patrick starts to softly sing. It makes David pause. Patrick has a clear, honeyed voice that slides up David’s back like a warm hand.</p><p>
  <em> Been travelin’ these wide roads for so long </em>
</p><p>
  <em> My hearts been far from you </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Ten thousand miles gone </em>
</p><p>David squeezes out a long arc of the liquid blue paint directly onto the canvas, he clicks the cap shut and shoves the bottle in his back pocket. He follows the arc with a few light sprays from the water bottle and hooks the spray trigger into the waistband of his pants. He starts pushing the paint around. </p><p>
  <em> Oh I wanna come near  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> and give every part of me </em>
</p><p>
  <em> But there’s blood on my hands </em>
</p><p>
  <em> and my lips are unclean </em>
</p><p>David lets the sound pour over him, fill him, move him. </p><p> </p><p>***P***</p><p> </p><p>Patrick didn’t choose the song for any reason other than he knows it so well he won’t have to look at his hands, freeing him up to watch David. He’s up on his ladder and his body is loose, his movements fluid. Patrick sings another verse and his hands move easily up and down the neck of the guitar, the strings so familiar under his fingers. He reaches the chorus and raises his voice. </p><p>
  <em> Take me to your river </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I wanna go </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Oh go on </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Take me to your river </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I wanna know </em>
</p><p>Patrick watches David's body react slightly to the change in volume, or maybe it’s the words. He’s still dragging the heavy brush all over the canvas. But he hitches. The reaction makes Patrick think about the lyric. Makes him think of redemption, of starting over, it makes him think of David and <em> possibilities</em>. </p><p>He shivers and his voice falters, so he plays several measures without singing at all. Just the calm, repetitive, progression of chords. His fingers move along a well worn path. Over and over. It’s soothing. He watches David’s body relax. His movements grow more expansive. The canvas turns blue.</p><p><br/>Patrick sings the rest of the song softly.  He segues fluidly from one song to another, playing just the music. He hums occasionally or quietly sings a lyric here or there. He doesn’t feel like he has to perform. He only has to indulge in this thing he loves. So he plays. Patrick plays and watches David.</p><p>Watching David from behind the guitar is easier. It feels good to admire his beauty without feeling so cowed by attraction. Patrick smiles to himself. Maybe <em> Musical Patrick </em> is more confident too. It feels surprisingly right to be in this space with him. Each of them doing their one thing. </p><p>After thirty minutes or so, Patrick winds down. He yawns and sets his guitar aside. David is sitting on top of his ladder studying the painting. </p><p>Patrick stands and stretches. “You have water?”</p><p>“Yeah, bottles in the refrigerator. Get me one too?”</p><p>Patrick comes back and stands beside the ladder. He hands David his water and contemplates the painting with him. “What kind of paint is it that doesn’t cover up the lines you made before?”</p><p>“It’s translucent acrylic, goes on like a stain.”</p><p>“So you don’t want to cover up the marks?”</p><p>“Sometimes. Some marks will fade into the background or disappear. But yeah, I want the marks to show through in some areas.”</p><p>“Hm. I like it.”</p><p>Out of the corner of his eye, Patrick can see David smile. “You do?”</p><p>“I do. Very much, David. I like. I like the layers. It’s. They’re. Cool.”</p><p>“They’re <em> cool, </em>well, thank you Patrick.” He’s teasing but it has no teeth. It’s warm. Fond.</p><p>Patrick blushes. “I’m sorry I don't have the vocabulary to talk about art.”</p><p>“Oh, don’t apologize, I don’t always have a vocabulary for art myself. You like it. I’m glad you like it.” David reaches out and pats his shoulder.</p><p>Patrick almost leans his cheek against David’s hand. It’d be so easy. He needs to go before he embarrasses himself. He puts his hand over David’s for a second then steps out from under it. “This felt good. Playing while you paint.”</p><p>“I really liked it too.”</p><p>“Can we do it again sometime?”</p><p>“We can do it whenever you like.” David squints and makes a face. “Just preferably not before ten am, because I’m not really a morning person.”</p><p>Patrick smiles. “Mmhmm.” God, he likes him so much. “How about this. If you’re loud down here at night, and wake me up, then I get to come watch you paint.” </p><p>“That sounds fair.” David’s smile pulls to one side, making a dimple appear. “Or you bring your guitar, price of admission.”  </p><p>Patrick’s heart thumps heavily in his chest. “Deal.”</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>***D***</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> (11:34pm) D. Rose: I kissed Patrick! </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (11:38pm) S. Budd: WHAT?!?!?! </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (11:39pm) D. Rose: Patrick likes men. And I kissed him. I kissed Patrick. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (11:39pm) D. Rose: Just once. It was an accident.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (11:40pm) D. Rose: Impulsive, I couldn’t help it. *blushing emoji* </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (11:45pm) S. Budd: Good? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (11:45pm) D. Rose: *thumbs up emoji* *fire emoji* *blushing emoji* </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (11:46pm) S. Budd: Details tomorrow. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (11:47pm) D. Rose: *thumbs up emoji* </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Connected</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>***P***</p><p>
  <em> (Connected by Stereo MC) </em>
</p><p>It’s Sunday and Patrick is running. It’s early, and it’s beautiful. The sun filters through the trees and he runs through the dappled light. He thinks about what it’d be like to come in from a morning run to find David in his bed, warm and soft and sleepy. He shakes the thought. It’s too awkward to run with a semi. He can’t stop thinking about last night, playing for him, watching him paint. The kiss. Goddamn. That kiss. </p><p>He breathes in rhythm with his footfalls. Inhale for three, exhale for three, inhale for three, exhale for three. He’s on his second lap of the three mile loop, when he hears faint footfalls behind him. He moves to the right, hoping the faster runner will just pass and not try to engage. </p><p>He almost trips over his feet when Jake pulls up and starts pacing him. He gestures for Patrick to take out an ear bud. “Mind if I join you?”</p><p>“Not at all, sure, sure.” Patrick has to fight the urge to speed up. There is no way he’d ever be able to match Jake’s long-legged stride, so it’s best he just keep his own pace. Jake doesn’t speak so Patrick doesn’t either. When they reach the spot in the path that branches over to the footbridge that’ll take them back to the building, Patrick says, “Six miles is it for me.” </p><p>Jake just says, “Later,” and keeps running. Okay. Not too weird. </p><p>Since talking with David last night, Patrick feels none of the loneliness weighing on him from before. He discovered that the laundromat in Elmdale does your laundry within an hour, for a fee. Perfect, as it’s across the street from a gym, so two birds. An hour and a half later, Patrick is driving home, with flushed skin and pumped muscles and a basket of clean laundry. Patrick loves two birds. </p><p> </p><p>***D***</p><p> </p><p>David spends his Sunday at the motel. Last night keeps popping into his mind. <em> Patrick </em> keeps popping into his mind. Patrick is smart. Sweet. <em> That kiss. </em> Talented. <em> That kiss though</em>. David has brunch with his family, barely listening to their conversation, wondering if Patrick will come into the Café. Later, he “helps” clean the rooms with Stevie so he can tell her about it. </p><p>“But what made you kiss him?”</p><p>“I don’t know Stevie. He was right <em> there </em> and his fucking eyes were like, putting on a Shakespearean play. They’re so fucking expressive you can <em> hear </em> them. It’s ridiculous.”</p><p>“Giant Care Bear eyes.”</p><p>“Ew, god, please stop saying that.”</p><p>“It’s like you wanna do it with a stuffed toy…”</p><p>“Okay, we’re done here!” David starts to stomp out of the room.</p><p>Stevie calls out to him, “Okay, I’ll stop! Look. Look what I found under the bed in room two.” She waves a joint at him. </p><p>“Mmhm.”</p><p>“Gross snacks and a B movie marathon?”</p><p>“That’s disgusting. And yes. Yes. I want that.”</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>They sit on the ridiculous bed with the heart-shaped headboard in the horrifying honeymoon suite. They smoke and eat nachos and watch janky science fiction in black and white. He thinks of Patrick for much of that too. </p><p>“He can sing, Stevie.” David is quite high.</p><p>“Who can sing?” </p><p>“Patrick. Patrick can sing. Haven’t we been talking about him?”</p><p>“We haven’t been talking at all. We’ve been watching this weird-ass movie marathon. Dr. Sardonicus is freaking me out.”</p><p>“Ugh, do you think Dr. Sardonicus can sing?”</p><p>“If he can, I don’t wanna hear it.” </p><p>David pushes the nachos away. “I’m sick of nachos.” </p><p>Stevie sits up on the bed. “Yeah, let’s call the Café and get take-out.”</p><p> </p><p>***P***</p><p> </p><p>Patrick comes down the stairs to find Xander standing at the door looking out at the sky. </p><p>“Hey, Xander, did you make that deadline on that article you were writing? </p><p>“Hi, Patrick. Yep, I’m pleased to report I did. Made the deadline and now I’m onto some essay writing.” He peers out the door. “It looks like it’s going to pour. I was going to walk to the Café for dinner but I don’t want to get caught in it.” </p><p>“I was going for dinner too. You want a ride?” </p><p>Xander lights up. “You sure?”</p><p>“Of course I’m sure. Come on.”</p><p>They click so easily on the short drive, they decide to eat together. Patrick is pleasantly surprised at how quickly they get beyond small talk. “So you live in Elmdale, how did you find out about the office space you have here?”</p><p>“I met David at a reading I did at the queer bookstore in Elmdale. I was in a terrible relationship back then and didn’t have real space or head space to write so he offered the office for next to nothing. He wanted to offer me the apartment as well but his boyfriend was living there at the time.” </p><p>Patrick is distressed “Hey, if you need a place to live I’ll—”</p><p>“Oh, no. No, no, Patrick. You’re so kind, but no. I’m good now. David helped me out a lot.”</p><p>“Oh. Okay, good. I’m glad David was there for you.”</p><p>“Me, too. You know, he puts on this aloof sort of front but he’s an incredibly caring person. He just has this way about him.”</p><p>“Yeah, he really does.” Patrick blushes at his own tone.</p><p>Xander smiles. “I was going to ask what you thought of him, but could that blush be giving me a hint?”</p><p>Patrick laughs softly. “Yeah, I <em> may </em> have a crush on my boss. It’s ridiculous, I feel like I’m fourteen.” Patrick is shaking his head. Then he widens his eyes and puts his hands out in an exaggerated shrug. “Or, maybe it’s just that he’s the first person I met in town and I’ve imprinted on him like a duckling.” Then he rolls his eyes.</p><p>Xander laughs. “I don’t blame you. He’s beautiful and so compelling.” He smiles at Patrick’s expression. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m not into him. You gonna ask him out?”</p><p>“The whole boss, employee thing makes it feel inappropriate.”</p><p>“Is that your rule or his?”</p><p>“I don’t know. I mean, I’m from a corporate background. That type of thing was always frowned upon and caused so much drama when people got caught. And Ray said something.”</p><p>Xander frowns. “Ray?” </p><p>“Yeah, he was talking about some guy that David broke up with because he was a tenant or something?”</p><p>“Hm, Antoni. I’m pretty sure they broke up because that guy was a tool.”</p><p>“Regardless, I’m not sure David is interested in me anyway so—” Patrick pats the table top, his lips pressed together. “I mean he <em> did </em> kiss me. But it was—”</p><p>Xander’s eyes go wide and he grins. “He kissed you! How is that not a sign that he's interested?”</p><p>“Yeah.” Patrick scrubs his hands over his face. “Yeah, he did, but he apologized right away. It was just an impulsive thing.”</p><p>“What’d you say when he apologized?”</p><p>“Well, it seemed like it made him uncomfortable ‘cause he’s my employer, so I kind of made a joke about it. We hung out for a couple more hours after that. It was flirty, I guess, but nothing happened.</p><p>They eat in companionable silence for a while. Then Xander says, “It feels good though, doesn’t it?”</p><p>“What’s that?”</p><p>“To have a crush. That little flip in your belly when you see them. How your skin gets all electric if you happen to touch. It’s really a lovely energy.” </p><p>Patrick grins. “I don’t hate it.” </p><p>Xander grins back gleefully and his eyebrows are high. “Good! Because, well, don’t look now.” He looks past Patrick’s shoulder at the door, and waves. “Hi, Stevie! David!”</p><p>Patrick turns in the booth and there’s David, with the beautiful brunette he’d seen before. David is wearing a black sweater with horizontal white lines laddering up his torso and black jeans with what looks like a skirt over top of them. Patrick tries not to gawk at him. He’s gorgeous.</p><p>Xander is smiling broadly. “Hey, you two should join us!”</p><p>Stevie plops down next to Xander. “Uh, we ordered for take-out. We might be a bit too high to make decent company. Which is regretful because this would be so much fun.” On the word <em> fun </em>she turns surprisingly sharp focus on Patrick. “I’m Stevie.” She reaches her hand across the table.</p><p>Patrick shakes her hand, smiling. “Hi, Stevie. Patrick Brewer, nice to meet you.” </p><p>She smirks at him. “Patrick <em> fucking </em> Brewer, though.”</p><p>The thought that David told her about that night makes Patrick squirm in the most delicious way. David told someone. Patrick wonders what else he told her. My god. He coughs and chuckles. “Yeah, yep, one and the same.”</p><p>David is standing by Patrick’s side of the booth, one hand on the table, one hand on the back of the seat. He’s smiling, glassy-eyed, at Patrick, who finally works up the nerve to look directly at him.</p><p>“Hi, David.” It comes out way softer than he intended. Admitting his crush out loud fifteen minutes ago, is in no way helping Patrick be cool. He feels like he needs to brush his hands through the air in case the words are still floating around. </p><p>David leans in a little, putting one knee on the seat. “Hi, Patrick.” Breathy. Oh my god, high David is really cute. How is every version of him so goddamn attractive? </p><p>Patrick turns his body in the booth a bit and puts his arm along the back of the seat, his hand inches from David’s. “What are you and Stevie up to today?” </p><p>David is looking at the space between their hands. He looks at Patrick through his lashes. “Hmmm?” He looks back at their hands. He creeps his fingers forward until the very tip of his middle finger is touching the very tip of Patrick’s middle finger.</p><p>Patrick looks at David’s hand. He has on his big silver rings. One on his index. Two on the middle. One on the ring finger. God, they’re so hot, they’re so <em> David. </em> Without thinking, Patrick slides the pads of his fingertips up David’s fingers, right up to the knuckles, then back down. Warm skin. Cool silver. It’s just a light stroke, just once and Patrick pulls his hand back. David’s slow inhale is audible.</p><p>Patrick hears a snort and looks across the table. Xander is biting his lip to quell a grin and Stevie is shaking her head and looking at David with a cross between pity and amusement.</p><p>Twyla calls out from behind the counter, “Stevie and David! Your orders are up!” She puts the bags on the counter. </p><p>Stevie slides out of the booth. “See ya later, Xan. Nice meeting you, <em> Patrick </em>.”</p><p>“You too, Stevie.” He turns his attention back to David. “It was nice seeing you, David.”</p><p>David’s sideways smile appears. “I like seeing you too, Patrick.”</p><p>Stevie swats David’s arm. “Look alive man, our food’s gettin’ cold.”</p><p>“Bye” David whispers and then turns away.</p><p>Patrick and Xander watch the two pay for their food and make their way out the door. </p><p>Patrick finally releases a breath and looks at Xander.</p><p>He’s still trying to suppress a smile. “Are you sure you two aren’t bonin’? ‘Cause that little exchange was hot!”</p><p>Patrick blushes so hard he has to cover his face with both hands. He just makes a tortured sound and laughs.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> (9:55pm) D. Rose: Sorry if I was weird today </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (9:57pm) P. Brewer: Only today? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (10:00pm) D. Rose: Very funny. I just hope you’re not regretting your decision to work with me. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (10:01pm) P. Brewer: I’m already halfway to Toronto. I didn’t even pack. You can donate all my stuff to charity. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (10:02pm) D. Rose: I tried. The charity said “no thank you” They’re all full up on 50 shades of blue button downs and braided belts from the 80s. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (10:04pm) P. Brewer: Hm. My Dad must have been there already. I bet they were interested in your skirted pants. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (10:05pm) D. Rose: I bet you’re interested in my skirted pants. *wink emoji* </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (10:05pm) D. Rose: Sorry/Not sorry </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (10:06pm) P. Brewer: I am very interested in your skirted pants. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (10:06pm) P. Brewer:  I’m thinking of getting myself a pair. Do you think I could </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (10:07pm) P. Brewer:  Pull them off? *wink emoji* </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (10:08pm) P. Brewer: Sorry/Not sorry </em>
</p><p> </p><p>***P***</p><p> </p><p>It’s late Monday morning and Patrick is in his office, deeply engrossed in the safety regulations for warehouses. He’s thinking about going out and counting the fire extinguishers and the possibility of running into David if he does. </p><p>“What does this mean?!” </p><p>Patrick jumps at the sound of David’s voice behind him. He turns his office chair. “What does what mean?</p><p>“This!” David shakes a piece of paper at him. </p><p>Patrick takes the paper out of his hand. “Have a seat. What are we talking about?” He glances at the paper. “This is the proposal I wrote for you.” He sets the paper on the desk.</p><p>“I know <em> that. </em> I <em> know </em> that<em>. </em> ” David sits on Patrick’s desk, which, not what he meant, but he’s not going to complain. <em> Thighs </em>. “This part!” David twists and pokes at the second to last paragraph. “Six months? Who said anything about you leaving in six months?”</p><p>“David, that’s all the grant money covers. Did you and Ray not talk at all?”</p><p>David frowns. His lips a tight line. “No, I talked to him as little as possible.”  His voice is quiet. He sounds embarrassed.</p><p>“Oh. Okay.” Patrick leans back in his chair. “Yeah, Ray secured a grant that’s enough to pay me for six months, it’s not a lot but the apartment is part of the pay too. He said that if I want to stay beyond that, I need to reapply for that grant, or make this place profitable.” </p><p>“Well then, yes. That. One or the other. If. If you want to stay.” </p><p>“<em>If </em>I want...David, you saw the last line there, right?” Patrick points at the paper. David wants him to stay. There’s heat in his chest. David wants him to stay. </p><p>David frowns and picks it up. “Mm.”</p><p> Is he blushing? <em> Is David blushing? </em>Patrick wants to pet him. “What’s it say?”</p><p>“Patrick.”</p><p>“Read it out loud.” Patrick holds on to the arms of the chair so he doesn’t put his hands on David’s thighs. <em> He wants me to stay. </em>His blood feels carbonated. </p><p>David huffs. “It says, <em> The bottom line for me is that I’ve been inspired by your vision and I’d like to help you make it happen. I’d like to be a part of it. </em>” David pauses and clears his throat. “Um, I don’t remember telling you about a vision though.”</p><p>“It was during our first meeting. You didn’t <em> say </em> it was your vision, it was just the way you talked about filling the building with creatives. You talked about collaboration and support. You talked about farmer’s markets and art shows. You just lit up. I could see how amazing it would be.”</p><p>David is looking at the paper in his hands. “Oh.” </p><p>“Unless of course I misunderstood, and you’re not interested in making it happen?” </p><p>David is still looking down. “I’m interested.” </p><p>Patrick smiles and checks the time. “It’s almost lunch, you want to get some take-out and talk about this stuff?” </p><p>He stands then and becomes very aware of being slightly taller with David on the desk. He glances at his lips and sways toward him. He pulls himself back. <em> Jesus Christ. The man is a magnet. </em></p><p>David looks up at him, with a smile so small it’s barely there. He nods. “Yeah, let's do that.”</p><p> </p><p>***D***</p><p> </p><p>By the time they get settled with their lunch in studio two, David has recovered some of his chill. He’d been so spun up about the idea of Patrick leaving that he hadn’t even read that last line. And oh boy, that last line. He can barely wrap his mind around the way Patrick sees him. </p><p>David feels like he needs to get a blush out of Patrick to even the score. “So, tell me how inspired by me you are!” </p><p>“I know you think you’re embarrassing me but you’re not, David.” Patrick takes a bite of his sandwich and looks blandly at him.</p><p>They’re sitting across from each other at the table. David hasn’t opened his take out box yet and he nudges it aside. He leans forward on his elbows, dipping his head between his shoulders and looking through his lashes at Patrick, he purrs, “Tell me what I inspire in you, Patrick.” </p><p> </p><p>***P***</p><p> </p><p>Instantly, Patrick thinks about the numerous times David has inspired him to jerk off and he blushes hotly. </p><p>“There it is, there’s the blush.” David is still using an intimate voice.</p><p>Patrick attempts to hide behind his sandwich. “Happy now?”</p><p>“Mmhm. Very.” David looks at him for a moment and then gets to work on his lunch. </p><p>They finish eating and discuss the points on Patrick’s proposal. </p><p>“Honestly, Patrick, I love these ideas! Where did you get all this?” </p><p>David is looking at him with those espresso eyes, all bright with joy and Patrick wants to strut around like a damn peacock because this man is pleased with him. “David, these are <em> your </em> ideas! I just listened to you and extrapolated a little from there.”</p><p>David looks pleased about that too and Patrick wants to grab the front of his shirt with both hands and haul him onto the table and just...do things to him. </p><p>David, unaware of the pornographic scenario unfolding in Patrick’s head, asks, “What do you want to do first?”</p><p>Patrick nods at him for a beat too long trying to find his bearings. He coughs. “Okay, we’ll start with the groundwork.” David grabs his sketchbook and pen. “You start thinking about what you’d like to call this place. What you’d like it to look like, both physically and in spirit.”  </p><p>David scribbles notes, then looks up at him. “I’m going to make a mood board. What else?’</p><p>“Well, I’ll do some research on how much we should be charging for these amazing studios. If it’s a lot more than current rent we can talk about grandfathering in the current tenants. I can look into where we can advertise to our best advantage but I want you to think about that too. We’ll need to do the paperwork to become a legal business entity” </p><p>“What else can I do?” </p><p>“You talked about the farmer’s markets. Do you know who you’d like to invite to participate in them? What do you want that to look like? Do you want food or crafts or both?” </p><p>“Oh my god, both! Oh my god, yes, baked goods and local honey, and fresh vegetables! And baskets and, oooh, there’s this weaver who does these amazing scarves and shawls and…” David goes quiet and he’s writing furiously in his sketchbook. </p><p>Patrick is warm all over. Watching David get so excited and engaged is somehow hotter than him saying suggestive things in a sexy voice. He’s so<em> lively! </em> </p><p>David looks back up. “What else?” His eyes are so sharply focused that Patrick swoons a little. David is a force of nature and Patrick would happily die in his storm.</p><p>Patrick grins at him instead. “Well, what do you think?”</p><p>David’s eyes go up over Patrick’s left shoulder, staring into middle space, slight frown on his face. His gorgeous mouth is twitching and twisting and Patrick wants it on him. </p><p>David’s eyes land back on him. “We should post flyers or ads or something at Evan’s art school in Elmdale, for studio space and if there’s artists whose work would be good in our market. Oh, we should go to the farmer’s market in Thorntree. We can find out how much they’re charging for booth space and we can talk to people to find out if they’re interested. Plus I want you to see some of the beautiful things they sell there.” </p><p>Patrick is nodding. He’s scribbling notes in his folio. “A road trip would be great. That’s great. I’m writing it down. Do you put this stuff in a mood board or is it just design ideas?”</p><p>David smiles at him. “Mostly design stuff.”</p><p>“Do I get to see it?” </p><p>David looks up at him sharply. “You want to see my mood board?” </p><p>“Yeah. Is that okay? Or is it too private?” </p><p>David’s expression is unreadable. He blinks at Patrick a few times and a small smile appears before he hides it with a sweet twist of his lips. David nods his head. “You can see it.” </p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> (9:36pm) D. Rose: pinterest/drose/moodboard0909eu909 </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (9:45pm) P. Brewer: This is amazing David. Beautiful. Thank you for sharing this with me. *heart eyes emoji* </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (9:46pm) D. Rose: Thank you Patrick. I’m glad you like it.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (9:47pm) P. Brewer: Let me know when you update it. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (9:48pm) D. Rose: I will. *double heart emoji* </em>
</p><p> </p><p>***D***</p><p> </p><p>Wednesday finds them across the table from each other in studio two again. </p><p>Patrick taps his pen against the form. “Have you decided on a name?”</p><p>“I’m still oscillating between two.”</p><p>“David, we can’t file any papers until we have a name.”</p><p>“Either The Rainbow or The Garden.”</p><p>“What about mine?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Oh, come on, you just don’t like The Hive because it was my idea.”</p><p>“Ew no, that’s not why.”</p><p>“It’s brilliant! Bees are industrious!”</p><p>“They sting!”</p><p>“They work together! They make honey! They build a <em> structure!</em>”</p><p>“Have you <em> seen </em>honeycomb?” David shivers. “All those little holes.”</p><p>“Well, I think bees are charming. And what about, “Art is the stored honey of the human soul”?” </p><p>David stares at him. “Well, that’s beautiful. Where’d you come up with that?”</p><p>Patrick blushes. “Um, I may have been looking up quotes about art.”</p><p>David can’t help what his face does. It opens and he beams at Patrick. “Well, that makes me really happy.”</p><p>Patrick is still blushing but looks pleased. “So, The Hive then?”</p><p>David sighs. “Still no. I think I like The Garden.”</p><p>Patrick puts pen to paper. “Good. The Garden it is.”</p><p>David leans his chin on his hand. “Rainbows are pretty but they’re insubstantial, A garden, now that’s a tangible thing. It suggests fertile ground, growth, abundance.” </p><p>Patrick grins. “That’s perfect.”</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p>
  <em> (9:56pm) D. Rose: I updated my mood board on pinterest </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (9:58pm) P. Brewer: I know. I was just looking at it. I like the lettering on the sign. The Garden would look great in that font. (I created an account so I could follow you) </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (10:00pm) D. Rose: Will you create boards? Like, for blue shirts or guitars or spreadsheets?  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (10:02pm) P. Brewer: Nope. I just want to follow you. </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>***P***</p><p> </p><p>It’s Friday, and he’s sitting across from David, having lunch and talking. Patrick is enjoying that this has become a regular thing. After their first non-meeting, he’d been doubtful that David would agree to once weekly meetings. He’s pleased that he’s found himself here multiple days this week. He’s over the moon that David often seeks him out for it. </p><p>He turns his laptop around so David can see it. “Here are the grants I’ve filled out applications for so far. This one is just a small business grant for building improvement. It’d be enough to paint the exterior and maybe put up a sign.” </p><p>David rocks forward, excited. “Oooh, I want to replace our janky address numbers! Metal. Sleek black metal. We should get a sign for the road. Let’s paint the whole building in shades of sand and stone!” He puts his hands out in front of him and spreads them apart like he’s opening a curtain. </p><p>Patrick loves that he gets to do this. That he gets to sit here and offer things to this person. He waves his pen at him. “Put it on your mood board!” He loves bringing up the mood board. It makes David go still and somehow vibrate with pleasure at the same time. It’s a goddamn delight.</p><p>Patrick clicks a different tab. “This is the Elmdale Arts Council grant. It’s for the creation of public art. I haven’t sent it in yet as it needs a project outline.” Patrick shrugs. </p><p>“I’m sure we could figure out something. Maybe a group project? Or it depends on what artists we get in here.” He makes notes in his book. </p><p>Patrick pauses. ”I’m excited about the next one. It’s big and has very few guidelines about its use.” He clicks the tab and waits for David’s reaction.</p><p>David glances at it. “No. Not that one.” </p><p>Patrick looks at the screen to see what David is seeing. “What? Why? That much money could—” </p><p>“No. I don’t want it. I don’t want money from the fucking Raine Foundation. No. Don’t send it.”</p><p>“I already did! David, it’s so much—” It could pay his salary and more, but he doesn’t say it. </p><p>“Patrick, take it back. Can you pull the application? I can’t. I don’t…” David’s voice is firm, but his eyes look far away, sad. </p><p>“Yes, of course, David. Sure.” He turns the laptop and goes through the process of withdrawing the application. “It’s done. Withdrawn.”  </p><p>David closes his eyes and shakes his head, a barely perceptible movement. “I’m sorry. I know it’s a lot of money. I just. I know that family, Patrick.”</p><p>Patrick waits for him to continue but he doesn’t. “Good enough for me.” </p><p> </p><p>***D***</p><p> </p><p>David turns on his playlist. He opens the door to the hall a few inches. He’s been enjoying this little ritual with Patrick. David’s been in the studio three evenings out of the past five and every time, he’s gotten Patrick to come down. Patrick plays, David paints, sometimes they drink, they usually flirt, and they always talk. </p><p>David finds himself in the studio more and more. He used to go several days at a time where he’d insist the muse wasn’t with him, but he’s felt the creative flow lately so he’s leaning in. He’s still working on the huge eight by eight piece. It’s several layers deep and he’s very happy with it. He was also inspired to start a new piece and has a thirty-six by forty-eight inch canvas on a wooden easel, well on its way. He’s having thoughts about a third as well. </p><p> </p><p>***P***</p><p> </p><p>Patrick is laying on his couch reading a book and beginning to nod off, when he hears David’s music come on. He puts down the book and smiles at the ceiling. At first, he hesitated to go down, unsure if David truly wanted company. Now he’s fairly certain that David is literally summoning him. He splashes water on his face and checks his hair. He brushes his teeth and changes out of his sleep pants and into jeans. </p><p>He plays guitar for almost an hour before putting it aside. “You must be getting sick of hearing all the same songs over and over. I should expand my repertoire.” He doesn’t mention the songs he doesn’t play in front of David. Songs that he may or may not be saving for another time. </p><p>David is working on the smaller canvas. “I like your repertoire just fine.” </p><p>Patrick watches him make a black line of charcoal, he rolls it between his fingers as he pushes up the canvas, making the line tip and wobble. Then he makes a sharp left turn and steers it right off the canvas, lifting his arm, scribing a half circle in the air and bring the charcoal back home, and squiggles it all the way down to the bottom of the canvas. </p><p>Patrick frowns. “Wow, that was cool, what you just did.”</p><p>David lifts one eyebrow and snorts. “Was it cool, Patrick?” He twists his smile. </p><p>“Yeah, I know. I know. I need to expand my vocabulary around art.” He looks back at the painting.  “I’m, uh, when you made that line go off the edge and then back like that. It made me feel like the painting is bigger than the canvas, like it has a life outside its edges.”   </p><p>Patrick gets up and comes closer. “You know how they say art mirrors the artist? All of a sudden, I think I really grasp that.” He glances at David and back to the canvas. “I mean, right at that moment, I thought that the painting is like you, yeah? Like, there’s more to you than what you let people see.”</p><p> </p><p>***D***</p><p> </p><p>Patrick is still looking at the painting so David just stares at him. Patrick just described his art as a representation of him, and sure, it’s a simple enough concept, but Patrick says it like he gets it and can see it. It makes David’s chest feel light and fluttery. The spark in his belly pops and flashes. Patrick thinks about art and what it means. Patrick thinks about <em> him,</em> and his art. Patrick thinks there’s more to him than what people see. It makes his throat ache.</p><p>David swallows hard and clears his throat. “Thank you.” He can’t even look at him. </p><p>Patrick pats his arm. “No, thank <em> you </em>. I think I just had a legitimate artistic epiphany.” Patrick says it playfully and he chuckles, so David can look at him now. </p><p> </p><p>***P***</p><p> </p><p>Patrick is savoring the moment, smiling into David’s eyes, when David reaches out and puts his hand on the side of Patrick’s neck. “It means a lot to me that you think about this. Thank you.” David pulls him in and kisses him. </p><p>It lasts a little longer than the first time he kissed him. David’s lips are parted around Patrick’s lower lip and it’s the most sensual thing, to feel the wet heat of his mouth. It holds <em> promise. </em>David pulls back and Patrick sways into him, unwilling for it to end there. But David holds his shoulder and steps back. “And, uh, Jesus Christ! I’m sorry for impulsively kissing you again. What the hell, Brewer, do you have a magnet in your mouth or what?” </p><p>Patrick just stares at him for a moment, incredulous that he wants to play this game. “Really?”</p><p>His eyes linger on David’s lips. He wants to kiss him. God, he wants to, but David looks tense. He looks afraid. So Patrick lets him off the hook. Again. “Okay, um. You’ve reached the second level of testing. Thank you again for not pulling a knife.”</p><p>Patrick doesn’t think it’s quite as funny as the first time but David looks relieved and leans into the joke. “You said there was only one test though.” </p><p>“One test per level.” </p><p>“How many levels?”</p><p>He bites his lip and smiles crookedly. “So many levels, David.”</p><p>David just stares at him. His eyes burn brightly for a moment and Patrick is sure he’s going to kiss him again. But David looks away shyly. “I’ll keep that in mind then.” </p><p>Patrick goes back to the futon and sits down, pulling his guitar over his lap. He strums a few chords. He thinks about saying something about the song he wants to play. He’s kept it out of rotation. It’s not exactly fitting for whatever this is. <em> It’s nothing. </em> Whatever he and David are to each other. <em> Nothing.</em> It’s a painful sort of love song. But it speaks of breaking through and that’s the part he wants David to hear. So, fueled by the lingering feeling of David’s lips, he’s going to sing it. On the off chance that David is listening, on the off chance that he wants something more. Patrick wants him to know that he’s going to keep trying to get through.</p><p>He starts to play and David starts to paint. Patrick plays through the intro twice, working up his nerve. He lets himself fall into the lyrics like he’s letting go of a lifeline. His voice, quiet and clear, with only the slightest tremor. </p><p>
  <em> (Such a Simple Thing by Ray LaMontagne) </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Tell me what you're feeling. I can take the pain. Tell me that you mean it. That you won't leave again.  </em>
</p><p>Patrick sings. Eyes closed, heartfelt and true.</p><p>
  <em> Tell me what your heart wants. Such a simple thing. My heart is like paper. Yours is like a flame. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I can't make you see. If you don't by now. I'll get through these chains. Somehow, somehow. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Take it if you want it. I'm so tired I just don't care. Can't you see how much you hurt me? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> It's like I wasn't there.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Tell me what your heart wants. Such a simple thing. My heart is like paper. Yours is like a flame </em>
</p><p>Patrick’s eyes remain closed so he doesn’t see that David has stopped pretending to paint and is just standing still, with his back to Patrick. Just listening.</p><p>
  <em> My heart is like paper. Yours is like a flame. I can't make you see. If you don't by now. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I'll get through these chains. Somehow, somehow.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Tell me what your heart wants. Such a simple thing. My heart is like paper. Yours is like a flame. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> My heart is like paper. Yours is like a flame. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>***D***</p><p> </p><p>David stands before the smaller canvas. He’s relieved that Patrick let him off the hook again. Somewhat disappointed too, because good god, his lips are so sweet. But he can’t. He can’t. He shouldn’t. He makes a few more passes with the charcoal before he gives up and just listens. There is such power in Patrick’s soft voice. The song is sad and beautiful and David could listen to him sing forever. He tries not to imagine that Patrick might be singing to him. For him. Telling him that he wants to break through, telling him about their hearts. It’s too compelling, too heady, and he’s afraid of how much he wants that.</p><p>Patrick finishes the song and goes quiet. David stays still. He keeps his back to Patrick and he can feel his eyes on him. If he acknowledges the song will Patrick know he heard it. Heard him? “That was beautiful Patrick.” </p><p>Patrick stands and comes back to the easel. “I’m gonna go to bed.” He points at the canvas and looks at David, even though David won’t look at him. “This. This is amazing. Keep going.” He squeezes David’s arm and walks away. </p><p>David watches him go. When Patrick gets to the door he turns, he looks at the floor and brushes his thumb across his bottom lip. When he looks up, his expression is unguarded. “You should know that I’m not going to let you get away with that again.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>***D***</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> (11:12pm) D. Rose: I kissed Patrick again </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (11:13pm) S. Budd: So why are you texting me and not still kissing him? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (11:25pm) D. Rose: Because I’m an idiot that’s terrified of intimacy? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (11:30pm) S. Budd: You’re not an idiot David. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (11:31pm) D. Rose: *hug emoji* </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>***P***</p><p> </p><p>“What is up with you?”</p><p>Patrick pulls off a grimacing grin at Xander. “David. David is what is up with me.”</p><p>“What happened?”</p><p>“He kissed me again last night.”</p><p>“Paaaatrick! Why don’t you look happy?”</p><p>“He apologized again! Like, it was impulsive, but he didn’t mean anything by it.”</p><p>“What did you do?”</p><p>“He looked so freaked out that I let him off the hook. Sort of.”</p><p>“Sort of?” </p><p>“Yeah, I made a joke but then, when I left, I told him that it shouldn’t happen again.”</p><p>“Okay. So why would you tell the cute boy you like not to kiss you?!”</p><p>“I didn’t say that, I said I wouldn’t let him get away with it again. Like, I’m not gonna let him off the hook again.”</p><p>“Ohhh that’s good, Patrick. What’d he say?”</p><p>“Nothing, I didn’t give him a chance.”</p><p>“What prompted the kiss do you think?”</p><p>“He was painting and he did this thing.” Patrick pantomimes drawing a big circle in the air. “It’s hard to describe. Like, that motion went outside the canvas and suddenly I felt that the painting was bigger than the canvas, and there’s more to David than what we see.”</p><p>“And you said that to him?”</p><p>“Yeah, it just sort of opened something up for me about art. So I told him. And he thanked me, then he kissed me, but then he apologized.” Patrick shrugs.</p><p>“That’s pretty insightful, Patrick. You <em> saw </em> him.”</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“Yeah, and as a writer, I have to say that having someone see<em> you </em> in what you’ve created is heady stuff. He kissed you because he likes you. He likes that you saw him.” </p><p>“I’d like to hope. But honestly, Xan, I think he likes that I like him, more than he likes <em> me </em>, and that he’s just keeping me on the line you know?” </p><p>Xander frowns. “You know, I don’t know how he is with guys. But, I really don’t feel like he’d play a game like that.” </p><p>“I mean, I know about a few of the men he’s dated. I know I can’t compare to them.”</p><p>“You know that’s probably a good thing though right? From what I know, he’s not had decent people in his life.”</p><p>“Yeah, maybe.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>***D***</b>
</p><p> </p><p>Stevie is losing patience. “Why do you keep kissing him?” </p><p>David is leaning his elbows on the motel front counter and he covers his face with his hands. “I don’t know! He just <em> says </em>things and I just...ugh!”</p><p>“You must <em> really </em>like the things that he says.”</p><p>David fiddles with the pen on the counter. “It’s disconcerting! He <em> sees </em> things, then he just mentions it in this offhand way, like it’s not supposed to blow my mind or something.”</p><p>“I kinda get the impression that you’re enjoying getting your mind blown a little.”  </p><p>David squirms. “He’s so. God, he’s so different. All open and authentic like a decent human.”</p><p>“Hot too.”</p><p>David closes his eyes tightly and nods vigorously. “Yep, yes. Hot. Very very much hot. Yes.”</p><p>“You like him.”</p><p>“I don’t want to though!”</p><p>“But you do.”</p><p>David puts both hands over his eyes. “Ugh, Stevie.”</p><p> </p><p>***P***</p><p> </p><p>Patrick is staring past his laptop screen and out his office window. He’s thinking about David’s mouth, when he’s startled by a soft tap on his open door. He turns his chair to find David leaning on the door jam.</p><p>His heart leaps into his throat and he has to breathe around it. “Hey David. What’s up?”</p><p>David is looking at his hands, twisting his rings. “Have you applied for that grant that’ll pay your salary?” He looks at the backs of his hands, then the palms. “I know we’re going to get profitable at some point but I thought we should still apply, just as a precaution.” One hand goes to his hip and the other flutters out and up, then comes to rest on his chest. </p><p>Patrick has to give his head a shake to pull him out of the reverie of watching David’s hands move. He clears his throat. “I think that’s wise. But it’s closed right now. I can apply in two months.”</p><p>David pulls up his calendar on his phone and swipes until he finds the month he wants.  “I don’t want to forget.” </p><p>Patrick is glad David is looking down at this phone. He can feel his eyes shouting about the warmth growing in his chest, the <em> feelings </em> growing in his chest.</p><p> </p><p>***D***</p><p> </p><p>It’s early Thursday morning and David is already at the studio. Coming in early is not something David does often. But on days it happens, he makes sure to sit on the dock with his morning coffee. Catching Patrick coming back from his morning run is a treat. A very sweaty, sexy treat. </p><p>David looks up from his sketchbook at the sound of voices. He sits up straighter. He watches Patrick emerge from the trees and cross the footbridge. Wait. What the fuck? Jake? The two men are jogging across the parking lot now. They trot up the dock steps. Jake stops and opens his dock door. Patrick continues toward David. </p><p>He slows to a walk and stops in front of him. “Good morning!” Patrick puts his hands on his head, elbows out and arches his lower back. Ah, yes, the ever popular post run stretching. </p><p>“So. You and Jake.” David is torn between ogling Patrick’s thick thighs and being miffed about Jake. </p><p>Patrick grins. “Yeah?” </p><p>David crosses his arms. “You’re exercising together then.” Patrick’s chest looks amazing in that t-shirt, goddammit. </p><p>Patrick shrugs. “He runs with me on occasion.” He puts his hands on his hips and leans side to side, side to side. </p><p>“How nice for you both.” David sips his coffee and pouts at the woods. </p><p>Patrick picks up one foot, grabs his ankle, and pulls it toward his ass, stretching his quad. It makes his glute and hamstring bunch and flex. David would very much like to put his teeth there.</p><p>Patrick squints at him and tilts his head to the side. “Do you want to run with me David?”</p><p>David grimaces. “Oh god, no. I don’t. I don’t do running.” He watches as Patrick stretches his other quad.</p><p>Patrick drops his foot and bends at the waist. Without bending his knees, he touches the dock with his fingertips. He bounces there a few times, then lays his palms flat on the concrete. David is trying not to look as thunderstruck as he feels. Oh god.<em> Flexible. </em> </p><p>Patrick finally straightens up and hums. “Hmm, let me know if you change your mind. I’d much rather <em> exercise </em> with you.” The sexy troll then winks at him and trots away.</p><p>David snaps his gaping mouth closed. “You can cut through my studio you know!” </p><p>Patrick waves without looking back and continues down the dock steps, around the corner of the building and out of sight. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>*</b>
</p><p> </p><p>David opens his eyes. The light in the studio is dim. It’s too early to be awake. He rolls onto his back and blinks. “Patrick?” He’s standing at the foot of the futon. “Are you okay? Are you—” Patrick crawls up and lay on his back beside him. Is he sleepwalking? What the hell? David reaches out and touches his chest. “Patrick! What are you—”  </p><p>Patrick’s hand flies up and traps David’s hand against his chest. He turns his head on the pillow and looks at him with luminous eyes. “David.” His voice is deep and scratchy from sleep. </p><p>David shifts, accidentally nudging Patrick’s thigh with his knee. “Patrick, what’s…” He doesn’t finish the question, because Patrick grips his knee with both hands and drags his leg over his hips, pressing his hard-on against David’s inner thigh. </p><p>David’s sleep addled brain can’t think of one single reason he shouldn’t go with this. He murmurs, “Mhm. Yes,” and rolls on top of him. Patrick spreads his legs to make room for him, hooks his ankles over David’s calves, grips his ass with both hands and thrusts up. David groans, “Patrick… how?” Again, Patrick leaves him no room to speak, grabbing him roughly by the hair, and hauling him down to kiss him messily.</p><p>Before David knows it, they’re both naked. Oh god, Patrick’s body is gorgeous. All that soft, pale skin. They roll their hips together, grinding hard, leaking precome between them. David pushes his hands under Patrick’s ass and squeezes, it’s just as magnificent as he’d imagined. They thrust frantically against one another. Patrick’s teeth are clamped on David’s neck, and he’s moaning deliciously against his skin. David can feel a powerful orgasm spiraling up and up. He closes his eyes and moans. </p><p>Patrick whispers, “Open your eyes.”</p><p>David opens his eyes. The dull grey light peeking through the small opening in the motel curtains confuses him. He freezes. He’s got his small, decorative pillow clutched between his thighs, it’s smeared with precome. His dick is so hard, the head is poking up over the waistband of his sleep pants. He holds his breath and listens for the sound of his sleeping sister in the bed beside his. When he doesn’t hear anything, he cautiously turns. Her bed is made. There’s no sign of her. He breathes a sigh of relief. She stayed out last night. Thank god. </p><p>He’s too close to do anything but enjoy the messy luxury of having an orgasm in bed. His mind immediately returns to the dream. He rolls over on his belly and grinds into the pillow. Patrick, his lips, his body, his ass, his cock, his mouth, his eyes, his eyes, his eyes. David comes hard. His back arches and his body shakes. He claps a hand over his mouth to keep from shouting. </p><p> </p><p>***P***</p><p> </p><p>Monday afternoon, Patrick walks into studio two with their lunch and David isn’t there. He hears voices coming through the open dock door so he sets down their take out boxes and goes out. </p><p>David is down the dock talking to a man. There’s a small moving van backed up to the dock and some teenagers are unloading things into studio five. David sees him and waves, gesturing him over. </p><p>David is lit up. Eyes bright, hands dancing. “Patrick! This is Samuel Branson, he’s the ceramicist moving into five!” Samuel Branson makes over-sized, asymmetrical vessels, glazed in gorgeous jewel tones. It is stunning work. </p><p>Samuel himself, is stunning as well. He towers at six foot six. He has thick, salt and pepper hair. He’s slender but broad across the chest and shoulders, with large, elegant hands. To top it off, he has unbelievably bright green eyes. Patrick can’t help but notice that David is practically salivating. </p><p>Patrick shakes his hand. “Patrick Brewer. Welcome Samuel! We’re so happy you’re joining us.” </p><p>Patrick pulls his shoulders back and stands straighter. He takes a step closer to David. He has a powerful urge to put his arm around him, he wants to pull him close, bite his jaw, his chiseled, stubbled, hot as fuck, jaw. <em> Where did that come from? </em></p><p>“Thank you Patrick, I’m so excited to be here. The studio space is amazing, and David is being very kind about my work.” </p><p><em> Uh huh… I’ll bet he is. </em> Patrick smiles but narrows his eyes at David.</p><p>David gushes, his eyes aflame, the fucker. “It’s just so gorgeous!” </p><p>Patrick crosses his arms across his chest. “It’s really beautiful work, Samuel. We <em> both </em> admired the pictures you sent with your application.” Patrick has to fight the impulse to step between them, push Samuel back, and aggressively kiss David. <em> What the fuck is wrong with me? </em></p><p>He takes another half step closer to David. “We’ll let you finish getting set up. Let us know if you need anything.” </p><p>Patrick takes a few steps and glances back at David, who is bouncing on his toes with his hands clasped under his chin like an overexcited child. He frowns. “We have a meeting, David. Unless you’d rather stay and help unload the van.”</p><p>David gives Samuel a blazingly beautiful smile and follows Patrick down the dock.</p><p>Patrick huffs at him. “You’re so obvious.” </p><p>“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” David gives him a sideways glance. “You’re the one being obvious right now!”</p><p>Ugh. Is he jealous? Patrick has never in his life been jealous! Maybe he’s just grumpy today. </p><p>“Mmhph.”</p><p>When they get to the door of studio two, David stops him by putting his hand on the back of Patrick’s neck. David gets in front of him, leaning down in an exaggerated way, and peers into his eyes. Patrick’s stomach swoops mightily.</p><p>David looks from one eye to the other. “Mmhmm. Just as I thought.”</p><p>Patrick scowls. “What.”</p><p>“Samuel isn’t the only one with <em> green eyes </em> today.” He squeezes the back of his neck and moves away, laughing.</p><p>Patrick is grumpy for sure. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” </p><p>But he does. Goddammit.</p><p> </p><p>***D***</p><p> </p><p>Patrick looks at his notes. “Okay, so tomorrow is Wednesday. Marisol Rodriguez is moving into studio six. And the bookbinder, Thomas Bell, is moving into room five upstairs on Thursday. And three more applications came in today.”</p><p>“Patrick! We’re getting there!”</p><p>Patrick grins. “Your idea to post ads at Evan’s art school was brilliant! Plus all the word of mouth from the students and teachers!”</p><p>David reaches across the table and squeezes Patrick’s forearm. He pulls his hand back when Patrick looks up at him shyly. </p><p>David clears his throat and opens his art journal. “We have twelve vendors signed up for market night. I’m feeling anxious about it, Patrick. It’s in three days!”</p><p>“It’s going to be fun, David.” Now it’s Patrick who reaches across the table and touches David. His palm, warm on his forearm, his thumb skates over his wrist. “We’ve been clear that it’s experimental, nobody expects it to be some grand event. We’ll give surveys to the vendors to see what they think, and you and I will decide if it’s something we want to continue. Easy.” </p><p>David smiles softly. “How do you do that?” </p><p>“Do what?” Patrick takes his hand away. </p><p>“I don’t know. You say <em> easy </em>, and somehow it just is.” David feels like his eyes are kind of moony but fuck if he can help it. “You’re something else, Patrick Brewer.” </p><p>Patrick's cheeks go pink and he rolls his eyes. “David.” </p><p>Oh god. Patrick is adorable. Humble and preening at the same time. David reaches out and puts his hand on the table, palm up. Without hesitation, Patrick drops his hand into David’s. An electric current hums between them and David decides he shouldn’t look at Patrick’s face.</p><p>Patrick turns their hands over and rubs his thumb over David’s rings. “We make a really good team, David.” </p><p>David didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath. He exhales. “Yeah, we do.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Market Night</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> (Feels like I’m Drowning by Two Feet) </em>
</p><p> </p><p>***D***</p><p> </p><p>“Stevie! Where are you?” David hisses into the phone.</p><p>“I’m in Elmdale. What’s wrong?”</p><p>“Sebastien Raine is here!” David is panting with anxiety. Stevie knows all about Sebastien. He’s told her every humiliating detail. </p><p>“Shit. What can I do?” Her voice is firm and grounding. </p><p>“I don’t know! I don’t—Stevie!” He’s spinning out. </p><p>Stevie shouts his name to center him. “DAVID. Get Patrick.”</p><p>“Oh. Oh. Kay.”  </p><p>He doesn't have much time. He’s just hit send on a text when Sebastien comes out of the tiny studio restroom with a sneer on his face.</p><p> </p><p>***P*** </p><p> </p><p>Patrick can feel the bass bumping up from David’s studio. He grins. He’s excited for the market night. He’s excited to do this with David. He’s excited to see David excited. He rolls his eyes at himself. He’s got it bad. While he’s settled comfortably into this massive crush, it’s still a lot. </p><p>He’s in his office with the list of vendors that are going to start arriving later to set up. He returns some calls and makes some notes. He wants to be ready. He wants this to succeed so much. For David. Patrick wants to make David happy. He notices the music has stopped, then a moment later, his phone pings, he picks it up.</p><p>
  <em> (1:38pm) D. Rose: 911 </em>
</p><p>Patrick hurries out the door and down the stairs. The music turning off  is unnerving and David has not 911ed him since the whole <em> needing coffee isn’t an emergency </em> thing. He pushes through David’s studio door and sees him standing beside his painting with a rangy guy with too much hair and a ratty shirt. </p><p>David looks stricken, he looks wounded and unsure in a way that Patrick has never seen. Patrick’s shoulders roll back and his chest comes up. He has an intense desire to insert his body between David and this stranger. Calm and assured, he smiles at David, radiating warmth, radiating<em> I’m here. </em></p><p>David smiles broadly and says, “Patrick! Hi, sweetheart. Come and meet Sebastien!” <em> Sweetheart? </em>David’s voice doesn't sound right and his eyes are very urgent.</p><p>Patrick approaches David, never dropping eye contact. David extends his arm and rolls his wrist, waving Patrick closer. When he gets within reach, David’s trembling hand on his shoulder speaks volumes. He pulls on Patrick’s shoulder and Patrick just leans in. If it’s the wrong decision, he’ll deal with it later. He wraps an arm around David’s waist and kisses him on the jaw. He nuzzles his cheek. “Hey, gorgeous.” The smell of his skin, the sensation of rough stubble, and the weight of his arm around his shoulder will all have to be catalogued later.</p><p>David leans against him and turns his head, and for one wild moment, Patrick thinks he’s going to kiss him on the mouth. Instead, he presses his forehead against Patrick’s, his eyes tightly closed. Then he turns to the sleazy looking guy. “Sebastien Raine, this is Patrick Brewer. He’s our manager here at The Garden. Patrick, Sebastien is a photographer I knew in New York.” </p><p>Patrick keeps a hand firmly on David’s waist and reaches out to shake hands with Sebastien. Sebastien takes his hand. He gives it a slight tug as he shakes and eyes him greedily. It takes a lot for Patrick not to recoil. This guy is a hard core <em> creep </em>.</p><p>Sebastien says, “Nice to meet you Patrick. You have lovely skin.” He turns his attention back to David, but speaks to Patrick. “I see David is still mixing business with pleasure.” </p><p>Patrick doesn’t even pretend to smile. “What brings you here today, Sebastien?” It’s curt, ungracious. It’s exactly what he intends. </p><p>“Oh, I was going over the art grants for my foundation and came across a familiar name. I thought I’d drop in; see what my David has gotten himself up to these last few years.” </p><p><em> My David. </em> David’s body stiffens under Patrick’s hand. Patrick says, “How nice, I do hope that you’ve caught up though, because David and I have to get to a meeting with a vendor right now.” Patrick gestures toward the door and pulls gently on David’s waist to get him moving. </p><p>Patrick gets David to the door and looks back. Sebastien has hardly moved. He whispers to David, “What do you need? Want me to get rid of him?” David just nods. “Do you want to stay or do you want to go upstairs?” David keeps nodding. He looks up. Patrick takes the opportunity to kiss his cheek again and murmurs in his ear. “Apartment’s not locked.” David moves, trancelike to the stairs. </p><p>Patrick walks back through the studio and puts himself between Sebastien and David’s painting. Sebastien is adjusting the settings on his camera. </p><p>Patrick’s tone is deadly serious. “We don’t allow photos of unfinished work.” He puts his hand on the camera and pushes it gently against the other man’s chest.</p><p>Sebastien’s eyes narrow at him. “What you’re manhandling right now is a Hesselblad, and it costs twice as much as your car.” </p><p> </p><p>Patrick takes his hand off the camera and grips Sebastien’s elbow, deeply satisfied when the man flinches. Patrick guides him a few steps and gestures toward the door. “After you.” </p><p>Sebastien takes his time, still looking around the studio. He turns, walking backward, looking appraisingly at Patrick again. “Look at you, Mr. Brewer. So officious. You know, it’s kind of charming to see David slumming like this. He used to have highly refined taste in lovers.” </p><p>Sebastien stops just inside the door. “Though you do have a rough-hewn beauty.” He holds his camera up, chest high and snaps a picture of Patrick. “Your throat looks like a glass of milk, Patrick.” His voice is dark. “I’d love to photograph you naked, draped over rusty farm equipment. Your smooth, pale skin next to the coarse rust would be transcendent. It would be the perfect allegory for the diminishing value of small farming communities juxtaposed with the fecund body of potential within their people.” </p><p>Patrick sneers. “How banal.” He is fiercely glad to see Sebastien’s surprised frown. He grips his elbow again and hustles him into the hall. Patrick hasn’t gotten truly rough, but it’s so close to the surface he can taste it. Sebastien is resisting, leaning into Patrick’s hand. Patrick would like nothing more than to beat this man to death with his camera. Instead, he presses his thumb into Sebastien’s solar plexus and pushes. Sebastien backs quickly out of reach, coughing. </p><p>Sebastien moves to the double glass door leading out to the parking lot. He’s grinning predatorily. “I like that. You’re rough. David likes it rough. But I’m sure you know that right?”</p><p>“It’s time to go.” Patrick seethes. </p><p>“Maybe I’ll see you later, Pat.”  Sebastien leans his back against the door pushing it open. “I’ll definitely be seeing your boyfriend later.” He leaves then, finally. </p><p>Patrick locks the glass doors and runs up the stairs. He has to pause outside his apartment door to breathe, waiting for his heart to slow down. The door flies open and David pulls him inside. He wraps his arms around his shoulders and hugs him hard. Patrick’s hands fly up around him,  patting his back. Patrick can feel David’s heart hammering in his chest.</p><p>“Hey, babe, hey, are you okay? David, are you okay? Tell me. Tell me.” He is only fleetingly aware that he uses an endearment. </p><p>David releases him and puts his hands over his face. Patrick guides him to the couch and helps him sit on the edge. He sits beside him and rubs his back some more. </p><p>Finally David takes a deep breath and leans back. “He’s why I didn’t want the grant from the Raine foundation. I knew him in New York. We dated. It was. He was <em> bad </em>Patrick. He did bad things. To me.”</p><p>Patrick breathes through the hard pit of rage in his throat. “What does he want?”</p><p>“Besides fucking with my mind? He’s going to meet with my mom. They’re going to discuss a photo shoot. He makes her feel important. But he’s ruthless. He’s going to take advantage somehow, I just know it.”</p><p>“When are they meeting?” </p><p>“Probably now. I’m sure he went straight there from here.” </p><p>“David, go be with her! Maybe you can stop—”</p><p>“I can’t stop anything. My mother just thinks I’m being bitter because he dumped me.”</p><p> </p><p>***D***</p><p> </p><p>Waves of humiliation roll over David. He does not want to do this. He doesn’t like talking about this. Why did he even come up here? </p><p>“Maybe you should go anyway, you know, just be there in case she needs you.” </p><p>“But market night...”</p><p>“Everything is ready, I can meet the vendors if they show up early, and it doesn’t start for hours. Go do what you need to do.”</p><p>“I don’t know.” </p><p>“Go David. Won’t it make you feel better if you can keep an eye on things? And you just being there will help your mom.”</p><p>David stares vacantly for a moment, he speaks so softly he’s almost talking to himself. “I can stand up for mom.”</p><p>Patrick squeezes his knee. “And, David, you text me, or call me if you need me okay?”</p><p>David straightens his back, still looking at the wall. “Yes. Okay.” </p><p>He takes a breath. Ugh. He needs to go. Patrick is too sweet with his obvious eyes and earnest words. He’s too gentle and kind for the likes of Sebastien. It makes David ill to think of Patrick knowing what Seb did to him back then. What he made him do, what he made him want to do. </p><p>David gets up. He goes to the door and turns around. “Thank you.” He stands there a moment, looking at Patrick. He wants to say,<em> Thank you for knowing what I needed, for kissing my cheek and holding me up, for getting me out. </em> But he doesn’t. He can’t. He can’t afford to stay in this soft place. </p><p> </p><p>***P***</p><p> </p><p>Patrick can see the change taking place in David. He watches as the walls go up. The frantic vulnerability is concealed behind something steely and vaguely unpleasant. It makes him ache to see him putting on armor in this practiced way. It makes him ache to think David has needed armor often enough that he can put it on with such ease.  </p><p>When David turns at the door and thanks him, there’s a moment when the softness that remains in David’s eyes is there just for him. Just for Patrick. It makes his heart swell so fast he puts his hand on his chest to keep it from bursting through. </p><p> Patrick looks at David and tries hard, with his eyes and his tone, to convey everything he feels.  “Of course, any time.” </p><p> </p><p>***D***</p><p> </p><p>“I leaned in! I don’t know, David! Why don’t you try it sometime!”</p><p>David can’t believe what he’s hearing. Seb had taken dozens of photos of her. Here. In her beautiful couture dress. In this simple farm town. This is a mess. He’s going to sell those fucking photos to trash tabloids and it’ll be too humiliating. Moira will lose her mind. </p><p> </p><p>He thinks he has time. He’ll get cleaned up and go to Seb’s room. He’ll blow him or whatever Seb wants and he’ll get the memory card out of the camera somehow. Seb will go into the restroom at some point and he’ll get the card and get the hell out of there. Then he can go to the market night and enjoy Patrick’s sweet company and forget all about Sebastien fucking Raine. </p><p>
  <em> (4:00pm) D. Rose: Is everything okay there? I should be there in an hour. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (4:01pm) P. Brewer: All is well here. Take your time. Is your mom okay?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (4:01pm) D. Rose: No she’s not but I think I can fix it. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (4:02pm) P. Brewer: Be careful.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (4:03pm) D. Rose: I will. Thnx </em>
</p><p>David takes a shower and psychs himself up. He’s done this before with Seb. The man is a monster and David had almost talked himself into loving him. He’d been able to talk himself into a lot back then. He can do this to salvage his mother’s dignity. It’s just a huge goddamn bonus that it’ll fuck with Seb’s mind. Because he’ll know. When he sees the card is gone he’ll know that David only fucked him to take something from him. It gives David a brutal sense of purpose. </p><p>It all falls apart for him when he finds Sebastien isn’t in his room. David starts to spiral almost immediately. He goes back to his room and grabs the car keys. He can hear Moira through the door, deep in her own spiral. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck.</p><p>
  <em> (4:52pm) D. Rose: I’m on my way </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (4:54pm) P. Brewer: Is everything okay? Did you fix it? </em>
</p><p>David can’t bear to answer. No he didn’t fix it. Everything is fucked. And now he has to go to this stupid goddamn market night and just count down the days until Moira goes catatonic with humiliation. It’s going to be so ugly. And it’ll fall to him to take care of her. Dad doesn’t understand what she needs and Alexis just thinks it’s amusing until she gets bored. </p><p>He’ll have to spend all his time with her. He won’t get back to his painting. All of Patrick’s enthusiastic ideas for the school tours and open mics and markets will fall apart because it’s his building and Patrick says he’s pivotal to all of it and why did he get himself into this? He doesn’t want any of this! He just wanted to paint and be left alone! </p><p>Anxiety is surging through David’s body. He can’t get a hold of his thoughts. He has to get his mind to land somewhere. He needs to focus on something specific to keep from having a panic attack. His anger and his fear are a twisted mass and he needs to put it somewhere. He needs to put it somewhere that can contain it. </p><p>He pulls into the parking lot and gets out his phone.</p><p> </p><p>***P***</p><p> </p><p>Patrick is helping Margie get a table through the dock door when he hears a car pull into the lot. Thinking it might be a vendor, he trots to the end of the dock, down the steps, and around the side of the building. He stops when he sees David sitting in his car, texting. Patrick’s phone pings.</p><p>
  <em>(5:03pm) D. Rose: I don’t think I can do this</em>
</p><p>Patrick walks up to the car and raps on the window. David jerks and Patrick steps back at the look on his face. David gets out of the car and slams the door with both hands. </p><p>Patrick has his hands up. “Uhh, what happened? What can’t you do?”</p><p>“I can’t do anything apparently.” David snaps. “Sebastien didn’t want to discuss a photo shoot with my mother. He wanted to photograph her in this sad little town and make a small fortune selling them to tabloids.” His hands are making hard, agitated marks in the air.</p><p>Patrick, taken aback by David’s vitriol, tries to keep up. “He took pictures of her?” </p><p>“Yes! And I was planning on getting the memory card out of his camera but he’s not in his room and I don’t know where he is or what he’s doing and I fucking failed. I failed like I always fucking do. I’m fucking worthless!”</p><p>“David—”</p><p> </p><p>***D***</p><p> </p><p>David advances on Patrick, stepping into his space. He wants to shock him, make himself ugly so he’ll understand just how worthless David is. “I was going to fuck him, Patrick. I was going to suck his cock or let him fuck me and when he fell asleep or took a shower, I was going to steal the memory card from his camera so I could destroy it and preserve my mother’s delicate hold on reality.” </p><p>Patrick just listens. He doesn’t flinch once at David’s harsh tone or crude words. He just looks at him, concerned and unwavering. </p><p>The heat goes out of him. David steps back, and crosses his arms protectively across his chest. His voice is full of tears, he says softly “Everything is fucked now, Patrick. I’m so fucking mad at myself.” </p><p>Patrick steps forward, and puts both of his hands on David’s forearms. He squeezes and then steps back, scrubbing his hand on the back of his neck. He puts his hands on his hips and says, “No.”</p><p>“No? No what?”</p><p>Patrick looks resolute. “No to—” Patrick falters and then presses on. “No, to all of it. You are not worthless, David. You’re absolutely not worthless. And no.” Patrick grits his teeth. “No, to you fucking that piece of shit. Just no.” He throws his hands in the air. </p><p>David fumbles for words. “I couldn’t fuck him now if I wanted to. Which I don’t. I don’t want to. But he’s gone anyway. He wasn’t in his room.”</p><p>“Did he check out?”</p><p>“I don’t know.”</p><p>“Ask Stevie.”</p><p>David studies Patrick’s face. “But if he’s still here…”</p><p>“If he’s still here we’ll figure something out. Did your mother sign anything saying he could photograph her?”</p><p>“I… I don’t know that either.”</p><p>“Find out! Can’t she sue him or something?”</p><p>“She could, but until the photos are out in the world somewhere she can’t prove he took them, and then it’d be too late.”</p><p>“So he’s like a paparazzi guy?”</p><p>David laughed bitterly. “It’s not his usual. He thinks of himself as an artist. Oh god, he’d <em> despise </em> the paparazzi label.” </p><p>A caravan of two cars and a pickup truck pull into the lot. The drivers honk their horns and wave excitedly at the two men. Patrick manages a big smile and waves back at them.</p><p>“I’m going to help them get set up. Text Stevie and find out if that motherfucker is still here.” </p><p>David’s eyes go wide. He’s never heard Patrick talk like that. But it makes him calmer somehow. Patrick, making some of David’s worry his own. It helps. </p><p>Patrick directs the artists to the back dock and follows them over to help unload. </p><p> </p><p>***P***</p><p> </p><p>David and Patrick are standing on the dock watching the vendors happily settling in. David seems to have calmed a bit. He’s staying very close and it’s making Patrick feel fiercely protective. David gestures towards his own studio. “I’m going to go change clothes now.”</p><p> </p><p>Patrick just looks him up and down. “Uh, Okay?” David just smirks at him over his shoulder as he walks away. Why on earth he thinks he needs to change escapes Patrick. Until he comes out fifteen minutes later. Patrick almost chokes. </p><p>“You look. Uh. You look <em> really </em> good, David. Damn.” Patrick decides walking or moving in any way is a bad idea right now, because he thinks he finally understands what <em> weak in the knees </em> actually feels like. He can’t take his eyes off the fucking leather jacket. Holy shit. Slim white t-shirt, black jeans. It’s the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. David knows it, too. David is fully aware of how he looks.</p><p>He’s still smirking. “Okay, here’s why I changed: there’s going to be a lot of people here and this—” he gestures at himself. “Makes me feel powerful. And safe.” </p><p>Patrick nods. Okay. That makes sense to him. Stevie had texted back that Sebastien had not checked out of the motel. Patrick completely understands David wanting to feel powerful and safe. Apparently powerful and safe look like sex on a stick, for fuck’s sake.</p><p>“We’re going to figure something out David. You don’t have to— you don’t have to.” Patrick can’t think of Sebastien’s hands on David. It drives him mad. </p><p>David looks resigned. “Yeah, we’ll figure something out.” He says it softly, like he doesn’t believe it, but doesn’t want to sound patronizing. It makes Patrick’s gut twist. </p><p>An hour later, the place is bustling. The townsfolk have really come through. Evan’s friend, John, is set up in the corner with a little portable speaker and microphone and is playing some rambling tunes on his acoustic guitar. David and Patrick have been busy making the rounds. Talking to the shoppers and making sure the vendors have what they need.</p><p> </p><p>David relaxes into his host role. He’s very charming and engages with everyone. If he’s still worried about his mom or Sebastien, it doesn’t show. Patrick loves seeing him like this. He can better imagine what he was like as a gallery owner. Patrick watches as David disengages from a conversation and takes out his phone. He appears to read a text and his face falls. Patrick is already walking toward him when David’s eyes find him in the crowd.</p><p> </p><p>***D***</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> (7:00pm) S. Budd: Sebasshole is coming your way. </em>
</p><p>David looks up from his phone to find Patrick but he’s already walking toward him. Eyes full of concern. </p><p>“What is it?”</p><p>“Sebastien is coming here.”</p><p>“Good.”</p><p>“Good?!”</p><p>“Yeah, good! As long as he brings his camera, we can get the card.”</p><p>“How though, Patrick? We haven’t figured anything out.”</p><p>“I don’t know! I’ll. I’ll break his camera!”</p><p>“Patrick, that’s a Hasselblad, it costs—”</p><p>“I know, twice as much as my car, he said.”</p><p>“Um, not to be unkind, Patrick, but maybe more like three times?” </p><p>“Come on. I paid like twelve five!”</p><p>David nods his head, eyes up, calculating. “Yeah, that’s about right.”</p><p>Patrick blanches. “You’re telling me his camera cost more than thirty five grand?!”</p><p>“Yeah. And oh fuck, oh fuck, he just walked in.” </p><p>“David, look at me.”</p><p>David does. David looks at his sturdy friend, his usual softness is gone. Patrick looks powerful and sure. </p><p>“You know you’re smarter than he is right? Smarter. More creative. Like, just a better person than him. You know that right?” </p><p>“I don’t—”</p><p> “You have to know your power doesn’t come from a paint brush in your hand or what you wear. That strength, that courage, that creativity. That’s all in you no matter what. The brush and the clothes are tools. But it’s all you. All the time.”</p><p>“Patrick.”</p><p>“Let me finish.” Patrick takes a breath and holds David’s upper arms. “David. You. Are a fucking powerhouse. I have never met anyone like you. Smart, capable, and so impossibly creative I—” Patrick’s voice is getting tight and David wants to look away from his intense gaze. He starts to, but Patrick gives his arms a shake and continues. “David. <em> Look </em> at him. See him for what he is. He’s a bully and bullies are weak. He’s weak and small and you, my god, David, <em> you </em> are neither of those things.” </p><p>David’s eyes are stinging. His throat is tight. He feels. He honestly doesn’t know how he feels. He feels like he’s been through a windstorm and all of the tension and uncertainty has been blown away. He gives him a watery smile. “Thank you.” </p><p>Sebastien’s slimy drawl interrupts them. “Lover’s quarrel?”</p><p>David blinks. He waits for the familiar dread to descend. But. It just. Doesn’t. He smiles and clears his throat. “Sebastien.”</p><p>Patrick turns, tucking himself under David’s arm. His hand is warm on David’s hip. Patrick tips his chin up at Sebastien and says, “No quarrel. I hadn’t realized you two had been a couple for a while. I was just teasing him about dating a paparazzo! It’s just so vulgar!” He pinches David’s waist. David gives him an incredulous glance. How is he so good at this?</p><p>Patrick is chuckling and it’s the most patronizing thing David has ever heard. He can’t believe something so simple is working. Sebastien looks chagrined. David’s laughter springs up in his throat. God, the <em> look </em> on Seb’s face right now!</p><p>Patrick is still talking. “My niece loves Taylor Swift. Have you taken any sneaky pictures of her that she'd have seen? She’d be thrilled.” </p><p>David joins in. “Oh he did get a few of Lindsey Lohan in Ibiza a few years back.”</p><p>Sebastien is sputtering. “I was invited to that party! I wasn’t some fucking pap lurking outside! David, you were with me!” His voice is up an octave and he’s turning red. </p><p>David can’t remember why he’d ever been intimidated by Sebastien. Before he even knows what he’s doing, he steps into Sebastien’s space. “Oh Seb. The times we had.” It comes out soft, flirtatious. Sebastien warms immediately and smirks over David’s shoulder at Patrick. He doesn't notice David touching his camera. Then he does notice, because David has lifted it off Sebastien’s chest and is turning it in his hands. When Sebastien looks down, David tugs on the camera gently, so the strap pulls him closer. Sebastien bites his lip, his eyes on David’s mouth. David’s still talking, low and intimate. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it then.”</p><p>Sebastien, convinced by the flirtation, says softly, “What didn’t you see, baby?” </p><p>David’s face is turned down at the camera, but looks up through his lashes at Sebastien, his hands are busy. David leans in. So close that Sebastien angles his head for a kiss. David breathes, “Back then. I didn’t see. That your cruelty. Is born of weakness.” There’s a soft click and Sebastien looks down. David is already passing the memory card back to Patrick, who pockets it quickly, grinning. </p><p>“What the fuck!” Sebastien reaches up and grabs David’s wrist. Still grinning, Patrick steps forward and puts his hand on Sebastien’s shoulder and clamps down. “You should let him go.” The genial smile never leaves his face as his knuckles turn white. </p><p>Sebastien winces and tries to drop his shoulder out of Patrick’s grip with no success. He lets go of David’s wrist. Patrick releases his hold on him and steps back. Sebastien hisses, “You don’t know what you’ve stepped in, David. I’ll own this building!”</p><p>David looks around, confused, he frowns with phony concern. “Oh my goodness, why? Did something happen?” David looks at Patrick. “Did you see anything?” Patrick shrugs.</p><p>Sebastien looks around the room and sees that nobody is paying any attention to them. </p><p>Sebastien turns bright red, his mouth, a tiny, tight line. </p><p>David leans toward him. “Get the fuck out, Seb.”</p><p>Sebastien pulls himself up to his full height. He spits. “You’re not getting the grant.” He stalks away. </p><p>David throws back his head and laughs. </p><p>The whole exchange may have only taken five minutes but when David turns to look at Patrick, it feels like he hasn’t seen him in years. “Patrick.” </p><p>Patrick is beaming at him. “What’s up?”</p><p>“I’m going to hug you.”</p><p>Patrick opens his arms. “Yes, please.”</p><p>David puts his arms around Patrick’s neck. “Thank you.” </p><p>Patrick squeezes him tight around the waist and hums. “That was all you, buddy.”</p><p>David pushes back from him. His heart is growing. It’s pressing against his sternum and stretching his ribs. “Oh, we’re not doing <em> buddy </em>!” </p><p>They share a quiet laugh. Something has changed. The air between them feels different now. They stand side by side and survey the room. Nobody seems to have noticed the tense little exchange. </p><p>Patrick bumps his shoulder into David’s. He’s still looking out at the crowd of happy shoppers. “That was wonderful to watch, David. You were incredible.”</p><p>David keeps his eyes on the crowd too. “You helped…”  His throat feels tight again.</p><p>“I just said true things, then got out of your way.” Patrick squeezes his arm, and walks away.</p><p>David goggles after him. Patrick joins the crowd, talking and shaking hands, checking in with the vendors, being a good host. Being fucking breathtaking. </p><p> </p><p>***P***</p><p> </p><p>Patrick really has to walk away. If he doesn’t, everything he’s feeling will come bubbling to the surface. David<em> heard </em> him. He heard him and <em> believed </em>him and Patrick wants to shout. David stood up for himself and it was magnificent. Patrick is bursting with something too big for words. So he mingles with the crowd. He talks to people, but his brain isn’t engaged. He’s brimming with joy. </p><p> </p><p>***D***</p><p> </p><p>In order to feel a little more normal, and a little less like a giddy teenager, David starts making the rounds too. Talking to shoppers and vendors. Relishing how happily engaged everyone is. It really feels like the start of something great. </p><p>The rambling acoustic guitar that’s been playing softly in the background for most of the night goes quiet. David looks up to see John handing Patrick his guitar. </p><p>Patrick adjusts the microphone. “I am so glad everyone came out for our fledgling endeavor here at The Garden. Shoppers and vendors alike. Thank you all so much!” There’s some scattered applause and the crowd makes happy, affirmative noises. Patrick continues. “So, just keep on shopping, we’ll be open for another hour. I just wanted to say thanks to David Rose.” Patrick finds David in the crowd.</p><p>David freezes, heart, suddenly in his throat. He can’t take his eyes off of Patrick. </p><p>“Thank you, David. You did something remarkable today. I’m really proud to be a part of it.” He looks around the crowd. “Please don’t mind me. You shop. I’m gonna play a tune, ‘cause I’m happy.” </p><p> </p><p>***P***</p><p> </p><p>Patrick clears his throat. He strums the guitar and makes an adjustment to the tuning. </p><p>
  <em> (Walls by The Lumineers) </em>
</p><p>Patrick strums the guitar and looks at David. He sings, sweet and clear.</p><p>
  <em> Some days are diamonds. Some days are rocks. Some doors are open.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Some roads are blocked. Sundowns are golden. And they fade away.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> If I never do nothing. I'll get to you someday.  </em>
</p><p>Patrick changes the lyric from ‘get you back’ to ‘get to you’. He’s not sure David knows the song at all, much less well enough to recognize that he’s changed the lyrics to suit him. Patrick just hopes he hears him, really hears him. Patrick wants David to hear the chorus. It’s so fitting and so damn true.  </p><p>
  <em> 'Cause you got a heart so big. It could crush this town.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And I can hold out forever. Even walls fall down. </em>
</p><p>Patrick wants to say so much and just doesn't have the words. He sings his heart instead. </p><p>
  <em> All around your island there's a barricade   </em>
</p><p>
  <em> It keeps out the danger, It holds in the pain </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Sometimes you're happy  Sometimes you cry   </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Half of me is ocean  Half of me is sky  </em>
</p><p>Patrick’s breath hitches, and he has to look away from David. He smiles at the ceiling instead. </p><p>
  <em> But you got a heart so big  It could crush this town   </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And I can hold out forever- even walls fall down </em>
</p><p> </p><p>***D***</p><p>David is riveted. The crowd flows around him like he’s a rock in a river. He can’t move. He can’t look away from Patrick. He doesn’t even notice when Stevie sidles up beside him. </p><p>“He’s changing the lyrics you know.”</p><p>David practically jumps out of his skin. “Fuck! Stevie you scared me!” He’s loath to drag his eyes away from Patrick, but he makes himself look at his friend. “He’s doing what now?”</p><p>“He’s changing the lyrics. That line is, I <em> can’t </em> hold out forever. He changed it to, I <em> can </em> hold out forever. The boy’s got it bad, David.”</p><p>David flounders. “I. Don’t. What?” </p><p>Stevie takes pity on him and asks, “Did Sebastien show up?”</p><p>“He did.” David’s eyes are drawn back to Patrick.</p><p>“AND? Jesus David, stop making me pull teeth here.”</p><p>David looks back at Stevie. “And I got the memory card out of his camera.”</p><p>Stevie grimaces. “Did you have to blow him?”</p><p>David beams at her. “No. I didn’t even touch him.” </p><p>Stevie grimaces even deeper. “Did Patrick blow him?”</p><p>David makes a horrified face. “Ew Stevie! No! I just took the card out of the camera while it was hanging around his neck.” David preens. He’s so proud of himself.</p><p>Stevie’s mouth drops open. “Wow! That’s<em> bold! </em>”</p><p>“I know, right?!”</p><p>She frowns at him. “Help me understand this. You were on the verge of a panic attack this morning. What the hell happened?”</p><p>David is looking at Patrick again. He turns his head toward Stevie a little but doesn’t take his eyes off him. “Uuhh, I don’t know.” He doesn’t see the way Stevie smiles. He just feels her bump her shoulder into him. </p><p>“I’m happy for you, David.” Her tone is so sincere that David does look at her now. They don’t hold eye contact for long but they share something in that glance. </p><p>David bumps her back. “Thanks.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Damn Amazing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>***P***</p><p> </p><p>Patrick is laying in bed, staring at the ceiling. His body is exhausted from a day spent with adrenaline coursing through him. He has no energy to lend to his overstimulated brain as it tries to process the day. David, Sebastien, market night, singing, David. David. David.</p><p>Patrick has just tipped over the edge into sleep when the ping of his phone rouses him. Barely. He thinks about ignoring it, but it might be David. He’s disappointed when he sees it’s Brian. His sleepy mind wanders. He used to kiss Brian. Patrick misses kissing. Patrick really wants to kiss David again, more, a lot. He smiles and starts to doze again when his phone pings again. </p><p>
  <em> (11:15pm) B. Teller: Hey Pat  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (11:17pm) B. Teller: You awake? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (11:18pm) P. Brewer: Yss How r u/ </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (11:21pm) B. Teller: You must be asleep. You never abbr. texts! What would you think of me coming down there to visit you? </em>
</p><p>Patrick tries to think about that. Brian. Here? Patrick’s brain is too foggy. He starts to text him back when another text comes in. </p><p>
  <em> (11:26pm) B. Teller: I just want to share some news. </em>
</p><p>Patrick sighs. News. He really doesn’t want to wake all the way up.</p><p>
  <em> (11:27pm) P. Brewer: you ok? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (11:27pm) B. Teller: Yes. Can I come see you? </em>
</p><p>Patrick is so sleepy. Whatever. </p><p>
  <em> (11:29pm) P. Brewer: Sure  </em>
</p><p>Patrick drops his phone on the bed and rolls over. He doesn’t hear it ping three more times. </p><p>
  <em> (11:35pm) B. Teller: Okay When is good?  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (11:40pm) B. Teller: You fall asleep? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (11:50pm) B. Teller: Maybe I’ll surprise you! *winky face emoji* </em>
</p><p> </p><p>***P***</p><p> </p><p>Patrick is climbing the stairs to his apartment after a run, when his phone pings four times in quick succession. </p><p>
  <em> (9:35am) D. Rose: Have you heard from the Greater Elmdale thing yet? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (9:35am) D. Rose: About the sm biz grant? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (9:35am) D. Rose: I had a dream they called. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (9:36am) D. Rose: Did they call? </em>
</p><p>
  <em>(9:37am) P. Brewer: Good morning David. You’re up early. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (9:37am) D. Rose: PATRICK </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (9:38am) P. Brewer: No, I haven’t heard anything yet. I promise I’ll let you know the minute I hear anything.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (9:39am) P. Brewer: Are you coming in today? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (9:40am) D. Rose: Yes. 1 pm lunch mtg? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (9:41am) P. Brewer: Yep, see you then. </em>
</p><p>Patrick has only the vaguest memory of texting with Brian last night. His brain was too full of David. He looks at the texts and doesn't really know what to say about Brian surprising him. He texts back a thumbs up emoji and hopes that Brian doesn’t actually just show up. He’ll give him a call tonight, find out what’s going on.</p><p>Patrick is putting his notes into his folio when his laptop chimes to notify him of a new email. </p><p>Patrick opens it and leaps out of his chair with a shout. They got the grant. They’re going to be able to paint and get a sign. It’s small but it feels really big. </p><p>Patrick has just opened the dock door of studio two when David comes in with their lunch. Patrick plonks the sad piano keys and greets him casually. He waits until David puts everything down. </p><p>“How’s your day been?” Patrick asks.</p><p>“Did they call?”</p><p>Patrick puts on a voice, a near perfect impression of David. “Hello, Patrick, my day’s been great, thanks for asking.” Patrick walks over to David, whose mouth is open in surprised offense at the imitation. </p><p>David squints his eyes at Patrick and says softly, seriously, “Identity theft isn’t a joke, Patrick.”  Patrick snorts and David rolls his eyes and parrots, “Hello, Patrick, my day’s been great, how about you? Did they call?” </p><p>“No they didn’t call.”</p><p>“Ugh! What is taking—”</p><p>“They emailed.”</p><p>David freezes, looking at Patrick with big eyes. “AND?”</p><p>“We got it.” </p><p>David gasps and presses his fingers to his lips. His eyes ablaze. </p><p>Patrick grins broadly and opens his arms. “Congratulations, man.” </p><p> </p><p>***D***</p><p> </p><p>“Congratulations to you!”</p><p>David wraps his arms around Patrick and hugs him hard. He wants to pick him and spin him around.  He wants to kiss him. This man. This man makes things happen. He’s so good and smart and so handsome and David wants him so bad. The hug is going on for a little longer than congratulations calls for. He moves his hands on Patrick’s back, god, he feels so good. He can feel Patrick’s cheek against his neck and Patrick’s hands are rubbing his back and it feels like it could turn into a kiss. Maybe he should kiss him for real this time. </p><p>Evan clears his throat at the door and the two men step apart. He says, “Hey, sorry to interrupt  your meeting—”</p><p>“Evan, we got the grant!” David shouts.</p><p>Evan smiles happily and says, “Hey! That’s great news!</p><p>Patrick sits at the table and gestures to Evan. “Want some pizza? You can join us if you like.”</p><p>David isn’t one hundred percent behind this idea; he'd rather get back into Patrick’s arms but it’d be awkward to suggest that, so, sure, Evan can join them. David sits down.</p><p>“Oh, no thank you, I want to get out to Elmdale and do the art supply run before it gets too late. David, you want me to pick up a coffee on my way back?” Evan is standing in the hall door, his attention gets pulled to the front entrance.</p><p>“Yes please. You remember my order?” David knows he does, knows that he probably still has that text from weeks ago, but David likes to tease him, now that the boy’s calmed down. </p><p>Evan is still looking toward the entrance, he tilts his chin up, smiling slightly like he’s greeting someone. He turns to look at David and smiles as he chants, “Caramel macchiato, skim, two sweeteners, and a sprinkle of cocoa powder!” </p><p>David holds his hand to his ear and says playfully, “What is it?” </p><p>David, Patrick and Evan all chant together, “Caramel macchiato, skim, two sweeteners, and a sprinkle of cocoa powder!” </p><p>David and Patrick laugh, Evan chuckles briefly, then he’s talking to someone in the hall. </p><p>He says, “Oh yeah, he’s right in here.” He gestures into the studio, then he waves at them and goes on his way. </p><p>David doesn’t recognize the man standing in the doorway.</p><p>The man says “Patrick?” </p><p>At the same time, Patrick says, “Brian?” </p><p>David suddenly feels possessive. He was<em> just </em> hugging Patrick. He’d <em> just </em> decided to kiss Patrick for real. Now there’s a Brian in the room. </p><p>Patrick gets up from the table. “Hey! Come in, come in!” </p><p>Patrick’s voice sounds odd. It makes David want to touch him. But he doesn’t. He does the polite things and stands and smiles and shakes Brian’s hand when Patrick introduces them. So this is Brian. David guesses he’s cute. He’s a little taller than Patrick, with the same coloring. His hair is kind of floppy. He’s slim and has a wide boyish smile. David is keenly focused on Patrick, trying to gauge if he’s okay. He doesn’t look terrible, but he doesn’t look all that great either. A small, mean part of him wishes he were terrible.</p><p>“Hey, you, uh, you surprised me!” Patrick steps up and gives Brian the most awkward hug David has ever seen. He cringes inwardly. Poor Patrick. </p><p>Brian is starting to look a little overwhelmed. He’s kind of gawking at David, then he drags his eyes back to Patrick. “I didn’t think you’d mind, in your text you…”</p><p>Patrick flails an arm, reaching up to scrub the back of his neck. “No, no, I don’t mind, I don’t mind. I, uh, we were just getting ready to have our lunch meeting, David and me, we have—”</p><p>David is still standing. “You know what, Patrick? We can meet another time. I’ll just take some of this to my studio and you two can stay here and catch up.” David gestures for Brian to sit. He piles several pieces of pizza on his plate and picks up his drink.</p><p>David flashes a killer smile. “It was nice meeting you Brian.”</p><p>“You too, David.” Brian is still looking at him, wide-eyed. David knows that look and feels a little smug. Patrick just smirks at him. </p><p>David takes a few steps, but stops and turns. “Patrick, you and Brian should come by the studio when you’re done. If you like.” David still feels that possessive tug in his chest. He feels competitive and that’s so, so ridiculous. But David wants this guy, who once held Patrick’s interest, to watch him paint. David wants Brian to watch <em> Patrick </em>watch him paint. He’s not proud of it, but it’s there. </p><p> </p><p>***P***</p><p> </p><p>Patrick is a little relieved that David left the room. David isn’t even in full painter mode, but his energy shifted when Brian showed up and, Patrick can tell, it’s a lot for Brian. The poor man looks like he’s been tased. Somehow, seeing Brian so undone, after just five minutes in David’s presence makes Patrick feel things. Proud. Pleased. Smug.</p><p>“Brian. It’s good to see you.” Patrick feels like his voice is normal now, at least. </p><p>“I’m happy to see you too, Pat. I’m. I’m sorry I snuck up on you though. I thought it’d be cute, but, yeah, no. Not cute.”</p><p>Patrick keeps still. Though it feels like he’s supposed to touch him. Maybe lay a reassuring hand on Brian’s shoulder or his knee. But he doesn’t. He just doesn’t. “It’s fine, Brian. Don’t get in your head about it.” </p><p>The words seem to reassure him, he smiles warmly and his shoulders relax. “Thanks. That helps. You always knew how to keep me from spinning out.” </p><p>Something heavy sinks in Patrick’s gut. Brian’s reminding him of their history feels uncomfortably familiar. Rachel used to do that when trying to get back together. Patrick squirms internally. “Do you want to eat or…?” </p><p>“Yeah, sure. That’s probably a good idea.” </p><p>Patrick pulls the pizza box close and they both take a slice. They eat and make small talk about Brian’s drive and the weather, and Schitt’s Creek. He studies Brian while they talk. He seems so still. He barely moves when he talks. His face hardly changes at all. Patrick knows it’s unfair to compare him to David, but it’s there.</p><p>Brian asks, “What’s with the macchiato thing?”</p><p>Patrick chuckles. “Oh, that’s just a thing we do to tease Evan, David’s assistant. It was my second day here and it was Evan's first week on the job. David wrote down his coffee order and Evan dropped it outside. He was crushing on David then, and so eager to please, he almost knocked me out with the door in his rush. I picked up the paper and let David know, so I’m the hero that saved them both from themselves.” </p><p>Brian’s eyes crinkle fondly. “Ah, crushing on David makes sense doesn’t it? That’s very cute. I like that you’ve found some good people!”</p><p>Patrick nods. “Me too, me too.” He dusts the crumbs off his hands and wipes his mouth with a napkin. “So what’s your news, B? I know you didn’t drive all this way for me to tell you how big the menus are at the Café Tropical.” He speaks gently. Brian’s energy is different. Something is up. </p><p>“You know what? Before I tell you, I’d like to take some time to, I don’t know, get my bearings? Or something? I’m feeling a bit wired, the long drive and surprising you, and meeting David. He is <em> something </em>.” </p><p>Patrick feels that satisfied bubble in his chest again. “Yeah. He is.” </p><p>Brian asks, “Are you two a thing, Patrick?”</p><p>“No. We’re not.” Patrick tries to keep his face neutral. “He’s the owner of the building, my boss, so no, we are not a thing.” It’s the truth, though it feels false. Should he come clean about wanting to be a thing? Patrick hesitates. Something feels off. </p><p>“Patrick.” Brian is looking at him sideways.</p><p>“We flirt. I mean, he’s hot, Brian, but I don’t think it’d ever go anywhere, you know? I don’t think I’m his type.” This feels true enough. </p><p>“He <em> is </em> attractive.”</p><p>Patrick nods his head in agreement<em> . Understatement of the year. </em>“So what would you like to do? I can show you around town, but there’s not a lot to see. We could go to Elmdale, there’s a theater there if you wanna see a movie?”</p><p>“Well, David did invite us to the studio. Kind of hard to say no to him, right?” Brian is grinning now, eyebrows up. </p><p>Patrick smiles back. “Uh. Yeah, sure.” Patrick searches for how exactly he feels about this. Brian had gotten rattled by David. David in the studio is even more intense. It should be fine. He'll probably just show Brian around the studio, and show him his work. He doesn't paint in front of anyone. David won’t be painting </p><p> </p><p>***D*** </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> (BBY by Two Feet) </em>
</p><p>David starts his playlist and climbs up the ladder. Brian and Patrick come through the door right as the first line of the song plays. It makes butterflies flutter in his belly. <em> Tell me what you want, what you need from me baby.  </em></p><p> </p><p>David is using a short bristled brush that’s so wide it looks like a broom. He sweeps a bright belt of white across the canvas and then doubles back over it, then he zigzags as he drags it down, stepping down the ladder in time to the music. He turns to see Patrick gesturing for Brian to sit, but Brian isn’t looking at Patrick at all. He looks at David, captivated. David breaks open a broad smile and waves at them with the brush. “Please sit!” he yells over the music. Brian practically trips over his feet and sits hard. </p><p> </p><p>***P***</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Oh my god he’s painting. </em>
</p><p>As soon as he sees David on the ladder, stomping a dirty Doc Marten to the beat of the music, Patrick knows this is going to be extraordinary. He feels a little possessive though. He’s not happy about sharing this privilege. He likes the way it makes him feel, being the only one that David allows to watch him. But they’re here and David is in fine,<em> fine </em>form today.</p><p>David changed into paint clothes. He’s shirtless and wearing those magical olive green overalls that he had on the first night Patrick met him. The fabric looks like it’d be rough to the touch but floats like silk around David’s body. It’s like a visual treasure hunt to see where it’ll cling next, the jut of a hip bone, the curve of his ass, the mound of his cock. Good god. The song thunders on. <em> Damn amazing, damn amazing. </em></p><p>Patrick is trying to get Brian to sit but he appears to be transfixed. David smiles hugely at them, all bright teeth and deep dimples, Patrick’s stomach swoops deep and low. He manages to get both he and Brian seated and they settle back to watch David be David. </p><p>The music is loud, the relentless bass makes Patrick feel like he’s running. There’s a throaty guitar rolling over it, a compelling, forward moving rhythm. David is riding it. Before he goes back up the ladder he grabs the spray bottle and a block of charcoal. </p><p>Patrick settles in. He stretches out, legs out straight in front of him, crossed at the ankles. He has both hands behind his head, elbows out. He doesn’t notice that Brian has crossed one leg over the other and crossed his arms over his chest. </p><p>David grinds a heavy black line of charcoal right above the white paint he just applied. He sprays water across it and it runs, heavy and dark through the wet white paint. It mingles together, streaking down the canvas.</p><p>Without taking his eyes off of David, Patrick nudges Brian and says, “Look how the two elements flow together but don’t completely blend. Isn’t that cool?” Patrick doesn’t hear him answer. </p><p>The way the overall straps cut an X across David’s lean back is hard to ignore. As is the flex of his calf muscles. There’s a streak of white paint along his forearm, it looks like a bird in flight. Patrick’s vision narrows, just watching the movement. The music seems to fade to the background. David is so graceful. So beautiful. The physical expression is captivating. There’s a primal grace to it. David is enthralling. He creates exciting combinations of color and shape and energetic movement on the canvas. Patrick can’t get enough. </p><p>A poke in the ribs knocks him out of his reverie. “Patrick.” </p><p>He’s startled to see Brian next to him. “Yeah?”</p><p>“Can we go? I’m ready to go.”</p><p>“Oh yeah, of course, sure.”</p><p>A song is winding down. How many songs have played? A quick glance at the time tells him they’ve been there for almost an hour. How can that be? </p><p>David is still painting. He’s off the ladder now and standing close to the canvas. He’s holding a slender brush sideways between his teeth. He has two brushes threaded through his fingers in his left hand and his right hand is making intricate lines and swirls with another brush. Patrick wants to take a picture of him. </p><p>Patrick calls out, “Hey, David?”</p><p>David whirls around. “Hey! I almost forgot you were here!” He’s baring his teeth around the brush in his mouth, and it makes Patrick’s pelvis feel heavy and hot.</p><p>“We’re gonna head out.” Patrick gestures toward the door. </p><p>David walks over to his work table and drops the brushes. He taps his phone, pausing the music. He picks up a rag and wipes his hands before extending one to Brian. “It was so nice to meet you, Brian. Thank you for coming by the studio!”</p><p>Brian shakes his hand and says, “This was fun. Thank you.” </p><p>Patrick intends to clap David on the shoulder, but his hand lands there and he squeezes instead, rubbing a thumb absently over the warm skin. He pulls his hand away quickly. “Thanks for letting us watch, David. You did some interesting things today!”</p><p>David’s eyes flash playfully. “Interesting! Well thank you, Patrick. That sounds better than ‘cool’!” </p><p> </p><p>They say another round of goodbyes and then Patrick and Brian are standing in the hall. David’s music kicks back on. It almost feels like coming out of a movie theater, where you’ve been immersed in another reality for ninety minutes and then you come out into the quiet afternoon sunshine and you have to figure out who you are in this world. Patrick takes a deep breath and re-centers himself. </p><p>He smiles at Brian. “What’d you think?” </p><p>“I didn’t realize he was an abstract painter.”</p><p>“Yeah, it’s cool isn’t it? What he does?” </p><p>“Well, I never really understood abstract art but man, he’s so good looking it was fun to watch!”</p><p>Patrick laughs and nods his head. He can’t argue with that. “What would you like to do now, Bri?”</p><p>“Why don’t you show me around town a bit and then can we go to that Café for dinner? I want to see those giant menus you were talking about.” </p><p>They drive around town for a while and have an early dinner. Brian demurs when Patrick asks about his news. It’s still light when Patrick opens the front door to the building. His eyes go immediately to David’s studio door. It’s closed and quiet. </p><p>Patrick lets them into the apartment. He can feel Brian’s eyes on him, wide and over bright. </p><p>He motions for him to sit on the couch. “Have a seat. You want a drink?”</p><p>“No, I’m fine. Will you sit with me?” </p><p>Patrick sits on the couch too. Close to the edge, his body angled toward Brian, who looks like he’s about to shake out of his skin. </p><p>Patrick smiles kindly. “You want to tell me your news now?”</p><p>“Um, okay.” Brian clears his throat. “There’s a couple of things.”</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>Brian blurts, “What would you think of getting back together?”</p><p>Patrick unconsciously scoots back. “What?”</p><p>“Here’s the thing, my store is building a branch in Elmdale and if I want to manage it, the job is mine.”</p><p>“Elmdale…” </p><p>“Yes. If I take the job, we’ll only be thirty minutes away so…”</p><p>“Brian, I—”</p><p>“I know, I’m sorry. I'm pretty sure you’ve moved on. Like, with David, at least in your mind, if not for real. But if you really haven’t, or if you’re not, and you wanted…” He’s blushing. He’s very still. </p><p>Patrick is searching for a reaction that’s acceptable. He’s not at all interested in getting back together with Brian, but finds himself unable to blurt this truth. He doesn’t want to hurt Brian’s feelings. He finds himself wanting to deny interest in David and also confess that he can’t stop thinking about him. </p><p>“Brian, I don’t… ” Patrick stands. “Let’s get something to drink.” He’s already moving. “I have wine, beer and water.” </p><p>Brian follows him into the kitchen. “Water, please. Look, Pat, I know this is—” </p><p>When Brian doesn’t finish his thought, Patrick turns to look at him. Brian is leaning against the counter, holding the slip of paper with David’s coffee order on it. Patrick leans against the opposite counter and watches Brian’s face change as he reads it over and over. Curiosity, confusion, recognition, and then, something else. </p><p>When he finally looks up at him, his eyes are fond. “Patrick.” It’s gentle.</p><p>“Yeah.” He really has no idea what to say. </p><p>“Am I wildly off base here, or are you really this clueless?”</p><p>Patrick looks at the floor. “I don’t know…”</p><p>“Patrick.”</p><p>“I don’t know what to say.”</p><p>“You’ve kept this scrap of paper with David’s coffee order for over a month?” </p><p>“Mmhm.”</p><p>“Okay, I’m not trying to shame you. You don’t owe me any kind of explanation. Would you look at me please?”</p><p>Patrick looks him in the eye. “I’m sorry, Brian. This is. I’m confused about this. He’s my friend, my boss.”</p><p>“No, you don’t have to apologize. The best thing about the time we spent together is that we could say anything to each other.” Brian shifts and sighs. “I probably could’ve avoided all this had I been up front and just called you. I’ve apparently lost the ability to be as direct as we used to be.”</p><p>Patrick grimaces. “Yeah, me too.” </p><p>“I know I came at you with a different energy today because my intentions were different. I was wrong for that and I’m sorry.”</p><p>“You don’t have to apologize.”</p><p>“No, I think I do. I thought if we saw each other it’d spark something. But what I saw… Well, I didn’t <em> want </em> to see it, but, you like him, it’s obvious.”</p><p>“Is it?”</p><p>“If you could see your face when you watch him paint! I mean, if <em> he </em> could see that, <em> he’d </em>know. Like, for sure.”</p><p>Patrick blushes and smiles sheepishly. </p><p>Brian rolls his eyes and huffs a little. “Okay, I feel super petty right now, ‘cause I <em> really </em> don’t want to say this out loud, but he likes you too<em>. If </em>you haven’t noticed that.” </p><p>Patrick suppresses a smile as best he can. He cannot ask his ex-boyfriend for detailed observations of his new crush. He shoves his hands in his pocket and looks down, still blushing. “I don’t know.”</p><p>“I mean, him painting? That was a hell of a territorial display Patrick.” Brian puts his hands on his hips, and tilts his head playfully. “Unless of course, he’s that devastatingly charming <em> all </em> the time. Unless he lights up like a christmas tree for <em> everyone </em> . Unless he lets everyone watch him paint <em> like that </em>.” </p><p>Patrick mumbles. “He doesn't normally let people watch him paint.”</p><p>“Mmhmm.” Brian is giving him an incredulous side eye.</p><p>Patrick’s shoulders go up. “He only lets me because his music wakes me up in the middle of the night, so I’m allowed to go bug him. Or, if I play guitar while he paints. He says it’s the price of admission.”</p><p>Brian bursts out laughing. “Patrick! Are you living in a rom-com right now? You play guitar while he paints? He wakes you up with music and you take your sleepy self down there to watch him make painting look erotic?! Does he always wear improbably sexy overalls or does he switch it up?”</p><p>Patrick is laughing now. “No, sometimes he wears these white jeans.” He unconsciously makes a double handed gesture near his crotch. </p><p>Brian pats his chest with one hand, and fans his face with the other. “White jeans and Doc Martens. My lord, Pat. My. Lord.” </p><p>Patrick laughs “I <em> know! </em>” He feels lighter than he has in hours. He smiles at this good man. “Thanks, Brian. You know, you’ve been more yourself the past five minutes than you’ve been all day. It’s nice to see you without all that other stuff.”</p><p>Brian ducks his head. “Yeah, I was trying to be coy I guess, and that’s pretty much running in the opposite direction of what actually works, so lesson learned. It’s so weird that we both lost the openness, you know?” </p><p>Patrick is nodding his head. “Yeah, it’s different when there’s something actually at stake.” </p><p>They stand in silence for a few minutes. Brian pats his hands against the counter. “So! I’m gonna go now, Pat. I’m gonna go home and think about whether I want to move to Elmdale, and try not to beat myself up for coming out here and subjecting us both to radioactive levels of awkwardness.”</p><p>Patrick laughs again and shakes his head. “It’s all good, Bri. We’re good. And if you decide to move to Elmdale let me know. We can get coffee or something.”</p><p>Patrick walks Brain out to his car. Brian opens the door and pauses. “Ask him out, Patrick.” </p><p>Patrick nods. “Maybe I will. Thanks, Brian.” </p><p>He walks back into the building and goes to David’s studio. Patrick lays his hand against the door and smiles, then gives it a pat and goes upstairs. He feels clean and clear and serene. He tunes his guitar and plays until he’s ready for bed. Calm clarity stays with him as he falls asleep.</p><p> </p><p>***D***</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know what happened to me Stevie. After market night yesterday and the thing with Seb and everything, I saw this other guy that Patrick used to date and I lost my mind.”</p><p>“Why can’t you just admit that you like him, David, you so obviously do.”</p><p>“I’m his b—”</p><p>“Stop with the boss bullshit. He brings more to the table than you do.” </p><p>David just stares at her. Her naming his deepest insecurity seems unbelievably cruel. But he knows her and he knows that’s not what she meant, but the truth of it burns.</p><p>“Shit, David, I’m sorry. I just meant, you two are more like business partners, that’s all. You’re the—”</p><p>“No, I know what you meant. But he does bring more to the table. Like, in every way. He’s a really good and decent person. He’s kind and smart and grounded in ways I will never be.”</p><p>“Those are good things for a man to be. Why are you resisting this?”</p><p>David sighs, exasperated. “Because he can see things. In me. And if we start messing around, he’ll see that I’m damaged goods. He’ll leave and the Garden will die and that’ll break my heart.” He says it like the Garden dying is the only heartbreaking thing. </p><p>Stevie holds up her hands in surrender. “You seem pretty broken-hearted already though.”</p><p>David looks at his hands. Rubbing the palm of one with the thumb of the other. He clears his throat. “It’s fine. My heart has been broken for years. I can manage it as long as I hold on to some control over the situation.” </p><p>Stevie lets it go. “Control is overrated and you know it. Are you staying here tonight or do you want a ride back?”</p><p>David stands. “I’m going back, but I think walking will clear my head. Thanks.” He goes to the door and opens it but turns around and looks at his friend. He gives her a half smile. “Best wishes.”</p><p>Stevie nods. “Warmest regards.”</p><p>David walks back to the studio as the sun begins to set. He’d left soon after Patrick and Brian did. He was exhausted from that mortifying show he put on and didn’t want to be around when they got back from dinner. God, could he have been more obvious? </p><p>Once back in the studio, he changes back into his paint clothes from earlier. He starts to turn on music, but changes his mind. If they come back and hear it, they might come to see him again. He does not want to see them together after dinner and drinks, all cozy and probably handsy.  Not that they’d come back to see him. No, they’d go up to Patrick’s apartment. He shakes his head. He can’t think of Brian touching Patrick. Getting to kiss him. He shakes his head again. </p><p>Come to think of it though, they hadn’t touched at all while they were here before. Outside of that awkward hug when Brian first showed up. The few times he’d caught glimpses of them while he painted today, revealed some very interesting body language. Patrick had been all laid open and relaxed, while Brian was completely closed off. He looked intimidated. In the moment, David had felt smug. Now, he feels like a jackass.</p><p>He distracts himself and pokes around in the studio for a while, cleaning up. He unpacks the box of supplies that Evan brought back from Elmdale and puts everything away. He curls up on the futon with his art journal and lets his pen help his mind process his day. He thinks about control. Of holding it so tightly that it blocks one’s progress. He sketches a tightly clenched fist, rendered in hard, dark lines. Then in light, feathery strokes he sketches an open hand, reaching out. He stares at the two drawings. Not thinking. Just feeling them. The open hand is infinitely more appealing, looking at it makes him feel relaxed. He draws and journals three pages of stream of consciousness nonsense. It helps, and after a while he lays down on his back and dozes off. </p><p>When he wakes up an hour later he feels more like himself. Clear headed and energized, he’s ready to paint. He’s going to play his music. He’s going to play it loud and if it wakes up the lovers upstairs for round two then good for them. But he’s holding out hope that it might just be Patrick up there alone. He’s going to let himself hope that Brian has left. He’ll take it as a sign. If Patrick comes down. David is going to tell him. Something.<em> Fuck. </em> He fists his hands in his hair and pulls until his scalp tingles. He takes a deep breath and stretches. He’s going to let this happen. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Be My Heart</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>***P***</p><p> </p><p>Patrick opens his eyes. A sound woke him. A throb of bass. Patrick smiles. <em> David. </em> He listens to the <em> throb </em> pause <em> throb </em> pause <em> throb </em>coming through the floor. He must be listening to something bluesy. </p><p>Brian said that David likes him. Patrick doesn’t know anything for sure, but he’s going down there right now. Because something’s changed. Because being around David makes him feel so damn good. Because watching him paint makes Patrick feel like he belongs somewhere special.</p><p>Patrick gets up and pulls on a pair of loose, faded jeans. He doesn’t bother to change his sleep shirt. He picks up his guitar as he heads for the door but remembers Brian’s comment about living in a rom-com. It’s an appealing thought. He’s pretty sure, though, if he plays for David tonight he’d play something a little too confessional. He sets the instrument back in its stand. </p><p>When he walks through the door of David’s studio he can watch the shift in David’s energy.</p><p>It’s the reverse of watching him cover himself with armor to face Sebastien. Patrick senses part of David's carefully constructed barrier fall away. </p><p> </p><p>***D***</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry if I woke you two up.” David tries to force his voice to be nonchalant. He doesn’t suspect it’s working though. He’s shocked that Patrick came down. He wanted it so badly, it feels like a hallucination when he comes in. Hope tries to lift off and he resolutely swats it down.<em> Not yet. </em></p><p>“Brian left.” </p><p>Somehow, breathing becomes easier and holding hope down becomes impossible. Like pressing a beach ball below the surface of the water, too big and too buoyant to control. “Oh. Is uh, is everything okay?”</p><p>“Everything’s fine. He’d gotten a job offer in Elmdale and wanted me to tell him if he should take it.”</p><p>Breathe. “Okay?” </p><p>“Yeah, his real question was whether or not I wanted to continue the relationship. If I did, he’d move to Elmdale for the job and we’d pick back up.”</p><p>David swallows. “And?” His voice is too soft. Breathe. Breathe.</p><p>“I told him I don’t want to continue the relationship.”</p><p>David swipes a hand over his mouth to knock down the smile that threatens there. How is joy such a tangible, physical thing? How does it land on your chest like a brilliant bird and sing in your face until you can’t do anything but sing with it? Why does he feel it so acutely yet force himself to school his tone? The air between them feels warm and bright. It could be now. He could say it now. Patrick is looking at him with those eyes<em> . </em> David takes his hand away from his mouth, and clears his throat. “Ouch. Poor Brian.” <em> Coward. </em></p><p>“I didn’t say it like that. It was really alright. We ended in a good place.”</p><p>“That’s good Patrick. I’m glad that you’re okay with it all.” He wants to continue repeating<em> I’m glad! I’m glad! </em> But instead he says, “Uh, no guitar?”</p><p>“I’d really like to just watch you tonight, if that’s okay with you.”</p><p>“Of course. Sit. I have beer, you want one?” David is already moving towards the kitchen, breathing deep, steadying breaths, trying to find his courage. </p><p>“Yeah, please, that’d be great.”</p><p>Maybe he can just paint. Maybe Painter David will have the guts to open the door. </p><p>
  <em> (Tin Pan Alley by Stevie Ray Vaughn)</em>
</p><p>David hands Patrick a beer then goes to his work table. He puts the music back on and selects the long, thin paint brush. He pauses, contemplating the canvas. From behind him Patrick asks,  “What’s the point of using such a long handled brush?”</p><p>David turns and touches the brush end to his right palm and taps it there. “Yeah, um. The point is control, or lack thereof.” He chuckles at the synchronicity. “The farther my hand is from the business end of the brush the less control I have.” He kind of squints at Patrick, certain that the buttoned up business guy will not understand giving up control. </p><p>Patrick frowns a little and nods. “So you don’t want to control the lines you make?”</p><p>“Not these lines, I don’t. When I’m mark making, having little control, at least for me, is a good thing. It makes the lines more uninhibited, natural.” He ducks his head. The analogy is too much. He wants to laugh. “I just like the results.”</p><p>“I think I get that.” Patrick says.</p><p>David levels a look at him, eyebrows skeptical. “Do you?”</p><p>“I don’t know. It’s like, it’s like, by letting go of control, you get out of your own way?” </p><p>That joyful thing has climbed into David’s throat. It makes him want to laugh and cry at the same time.  Something about the way Patrick pays attention to this. To him, to his work, the way he strives to understand. Something about the intensity of his interest. It makes David feel singular and seen. It makes him feel like magic. <em> Oh god I like him so much. </em></p><p> </p><p>A smile blooms across David’s face. He can let go of control in order to get out of his own way. With art. With Patrick. Goddamn. “That’s. Damn, Patrick. That’s exactly it.” He shakes his head in disbelief, at Patrick’s insight and his own growing feelings for the man. He starts making erratic lines, pushing and pulling the brush around. He switches hands and loads more paint on the brush and moves it around the canvas. He’s too excited. He can’t focus. His movement slows and he drops his arm and sighs. </p><p> </p><p>***P***</p><p> </p><p>David is happy that he doesn’t want to be with Brian. The realization hits him hard. Brian was right; David likes him. He sips his beer and watches David and hopes his nerves will allow him to say something. He hopes an opportunity will present itself. </p><p>Patrick watches as David slows to a stop. “What’s wrong?”</p><p>David shrugs, hums the tune that means <em> I don’t know </em>. “MmmMmm.” </p><p>Patrick teases. “Maybe you need longer arms.” </p><p>David turns and rolls his eyes at him. He looks back at his painting and taps the brush against the canvas. </p><p>Patrick stretches out his arms. “If my arms were longer, I’d let you borrow them.”</p><p>David turns around and fixes Patrick with a look. Patrick’s insides get all swirly. To be the object of that intense gaze is a lot. He sits up straighter. David is standing over him now and Patrick’s heartbeat ratchets up. </p><p>“Get up, you’ve given me an idea.”</p><p>Patrick is suddenly breathless. “What?”</p><p>“Get up, get up, I wanna try something.”</p><p>Patrick stands. “Come over here.” David points to a spot on the floor close to the painting. He dips the long handled paint brush in black paint, and puts it in Patrick’s right hand. He lifts Patrick’s wrist until the brush tip is against the canvas. Then he steps back and looks at him, his arm, the brush. Patrick is suddenly hyper aware of everything. David’s attention is so direct and focused it makes him feel laid open.</p><p>Patrick shifts on his feet. He clears his throat. “I don’t paint David. What are—” </p><p>His breath catches when David steps up and stands behind him. David lays his hands on Patrick’s shoulders, then quickly takes them off. “I’m sorry, is it okay to touch you Patrick?” There’s nothing suggestive about his question. It’s direct and serious. </p><p>Patrick matches his tone. “Yes, of course.” </p><p>He feels David behind him. His breath ghosts across the back of his neck. Goosebumps ripple across Patrick’s body. A warm hand cups his right elbow, another lands on his left shoulder. Patrick closes his eyes and takes a slow, steadying breath.</p><p>“I’m going to move your arm. I’ll probably ask you to step forward or back. Just keep the brush on the canvas and relax.” God he’s<em> so </em>close. It takes an act of sheer will to keep from arching his back, or leaning into David, or reaching back. <em> Damn. </em></p><p>Patrick takes a deep breath. Then another. David starts moving his arm, lifting and pushing on his elbow, making the brush track across the canvas. The beat of the music is slow, the lead guitar is syrupy and languid. It sounds like a slow fuck and it makes Patrick’s tailbone feel liquid and loose.</p><p>“Can you…?” The hand on his shoulder drops to his lower back and pushes gently. Patrick steps forward. “Yes, thank you, keep…” David’s knee presses into the back of Patrick’s thigh and he takes another step. </p><p>David moves his arm up and then, pinching the fabric of his shirt, pulls down and back quickly. The brush skitters and jumps across the canvas, leaving a jagged Morse code in its wake. The broad movement has put the back of Patrick’s shoulder into David’s chest. </p><p>“Oh my god yes yes yes yes.” David is murmuring just behind his right ear. Patrick’s eyes threaten to roll back, his lashes flutter. <em> Good god</em>. David nudges Patrick’s shoulder with his chest. The hand on his lower back moves out and squeezes his waist before dropping down to the side of his hip, a thumb in his low back pushing him forward another step. David grips his elbow and pushes it up and forward while gently nudging Patrick to take another step, and then two more. They get close to the far edge of the canvas and David pushes Patrick’s arm down in a swooping arc. </p><p>The brush flies off the edge of the canvas and Patrick makes sure the brush lands back on the canvas when David pulls his arm back. It must land in a way that David likes because he breathes, “Good!” on Patrick’s neck. The praise and David’s warm breath slip deliciously down Patrick’s back. David hooks a finger into a belt loop and pulls Patrick backward quickly. The brush drags and bounces. Patrick shuffles his feet trying to keep up, but stumbles back into David’s chest. One of David’s hands catches under his arm to keep him upright and the other slides around his ribs and gives his chest a playful thump, and then David steps away from him. </p><p>David’s voice is hoarse. “Sorry about that.” </p><p>Patrick feels drunk. He’s so grateful he didn’t come down here in sleep pants. He’s so grateful that his loose jeans and long sleep shirt hide how hard he is right now.</p><p> </p><p>***D***</p><p> </p><p><em> Good fucking Christ. </em>Being this close to Patrick is making David dizzy. His body is so solid. So compact and warm. David forces himself to focus on getting the movement right. Move, step, push, pull, step. It’s a dance, and it’s producing very exciting marks. Oh yes, look at that. He focuses on the brush. He pushes Patrick forward and lifts his arm up and forward, then down. </p><p>The sweep of the brush skates it off the edge of the canvas and David pulls his arm back and god, Patrick is so relaxed under David’s hands, responding perfectly, landing the brush exactly where David wanted it on the canvas. So good, so good. He thinks he says it out loud. He thinks about putting his mouth on the back of Patrick’s neck. It’s right there. It’s very distracting, and moving him is so, is so... He pulls Patrick backwards too quickly.</p><p>When Patrick falls against his chest, David’s first instinct is to reach around him and pull him closer, press against his back, and grind into his ass. He can’t do that! That can’t be the way this starts! His arm is way ahead of him and he’s only barely able to stop that chain of events by thumping Patrick on the chest and then David backs the fuck away. <em> Christ! </em></p><p>“Sorry about that!” </p><p>When Patrick turns to look at him, David’s breath catches in his chest. Patrick’s face is flushed, his eyes are dark. David takes an involuntary step toward him and then stops himself. Right now. It could happen right now and he’s still too scared. Too unsure. He backs away from Patrick and turns his attention to the painting. He points at it and clears his throat. “Patrick, look what we did!” </p><p>David’s voice is still rough. Patrick looks so fucking <em> ready </em> right now. David refuses to look at him. He focuses on the marks they made on the painting, which, truthfully, look fucking amazing. Patrick isn’t saying anything.</p><p>In his peripheral vision he sees that Patrick is still looking at him. Patrick says his name. David’s heart is hammering. He can’t stop this.</p><p> </p><p>***P***</p><p> </p><p>David is pointing at the painting and talking. Patrick doesn’t hear him. When David stepped towards him, every cell in Patrick’s body surged forward to meet him. But David stepped away and now every cell is calling out. So Patrick does too.</p><p>“David.” It’s soft. </p><p>David won’t look at him, but the rapid rise and fall of his chest reveals his quickened breath.</p><p>“David.” It’s wanting.</p><p>David turns in slow motion. David turns for a thousand years. And over a thousand years, Patrick moves through molasses thick atmosphere. Somehow he gets there. Somehow, after a thousand years he’s finally found himself in front of David. </p><p>“David.” It’s wide eyes and shaky breath.</p><p> Then, there are hands on his face, cupping his jaw, cradling the back of his head.</p><p>“Patrick.” Whispered into his mouth.</p><p>Soft. Wet. Warm. Teeth and tongue. Breath and sound.</p><p>David’s broad hands travel down his back, under the hem of his shirt, to press against the secret skin of his lower back. While his mouth, his mouth, does dizzying, magical things. </p><p>Patrick’s own hands find their way to the straps on David’s chest, pulling, pulling. Then into his hair, where they pull some more. Then skating across impossibly silky skin, over warm ribs, soft waist, he presses a palm flat under the X across David’s back. He wants his mouth there. He wants his mouth beneath that X. He wants to press his lips between those firm and freckled shoulder blades.</p><p> </p><p>***D***</p><p> </p><p>The two brief kisses they shared in no way prepared him for this. David thought he knew what to expect. He’s stunned by the physicality of Patrick kissing him back. His body, all hard muscle and soft flesh. His mouth, full lipped and sweet. </p><p>But what’s making David feel drunk and greedy, what’s making him reckless and hard, is not just how he feels under David’s hands, or the slippery pull of his mouth. It’s the hungry way Patrick is responding. His hands haven’t stopped moving, caressing and squeezing, pulling and petting. He makes a near constant stream of small noises, a soft whine, a hum, a breathy <em> uh, </em>and it’s going to be David’s undoing. They’re just standing here, kissing, and he sounds like a dream. </p><p>He wants to let it happen. He does. He <em> decided </em> to let it happen. But this is <em> so </em> good. And he likes it <em> so </em> much. The fearful part of David’s brain starts shooting up flares, urging caution, reminding David of how much he has to lose, how easily he could fuck this up, how little he deserves someone like Patrick. </p><p>He tries to ignore them. Because oh, oh, Patrick kisses like he has a mouthful of honey that he wants to share. Searching and slow and sweet. Heated press of tongue, softly sucking his lower lip. David groans.</p><p>Patrick breaks the kiss, gasping, “Fuck, David.” </p><p>That somehow allows his fear to fully break through and David leans away from him. “Oh god Patrick, I did it again, I’m so sorr—”</p><p>“Nuh— no no no. We’re not doing that this time.” </p><p>His mind is screaming at him to stop this, he’ll surely ruin this very good thing if he doesn't stop this. He has to stop this! “Doing what? You and your damn magnet mouth have tricked me into kissing—”</p><p>“David. Stop. Please. Come on.” Patrick is trying to reel him back in, tugging on his waist.</p><p>David holds his shoulders back “Patrick. I’m so...” He can’t finish his sentence. He can’t say <em> scared </em>. </p><p>Patrick releases him, dropping his arms and looking at the floor. When he looks back up his expression is pained. “I know I’m not really...  Enough for you or whatever but....” He doesn’t finish his thought.  His arms are crossed over his chest. His chin tipped down, looking up dejectedly at David. </p><p>David can’t stand that he thinks that. Can’t stand it. “Patrick! That’s not it <em> at all. </em> Like, at all!”</p><p>Patrick throws his arms wide in frustration. “What is it then?! You <em> know </em> the whole boss/employee thing is bullshit.” He steps close again, reaching out, and David retreats back a step. Patrick holds his hands up. “Oh my god, David, can we just sit down?”</p><p>David shakes his head, confused. “What?” </p><p>“Can we sit down? Please. Can we just talk?”</p><p>“I don’t—”</p><p>“Look, I’m getting frustrated. I don’t want to fight with you!”</p><p>David flails his hands. “Fight?! Who’s fighting?” God, he thinks he’d rather fight than go wherever this is headed.</p><p>Patrick is already sitting down. “Come over here. Please.”</p><p>David deflates. “Uh. Okay?” He stands next to the futon. “You want wine?”</p><p>“No, I don’t. Thank you.” When David still doesn’t sit, Patrick scoots to the far end of the futon. “Please sit David. I won’t touch you.”</p><p>David sits with a huff. “I don’t care if you touch me.”</p><p>“Seems like you do.” </p><p>“I don’t.” David doesn’t know what else to say. “I don’t mind when you touch me.”</p><p> </p><p>***P***</p><p> </p><p><em> It’s time, </em> he thinks. It’s time for all the open, honest, no holds barred, nothing to lose, pour out your heart, truth telling. Patrick rubs his hands over his face. “I think you like teasing me, then pushing me away.”</p><p>“I am <em> not </em>a tease Patrick I—” David is indignant, he’s frowning, his mouth is open. Patrick looks at him coolly and David closes his mouth. </p><p>Patrick takes a deep breath. “Okay, look. I get it. We have chemistry. We work well together. We flirt. I like all of that, I just thought that it was becoming something more. That kiss just now David, that was… uh, that was, um, that was fucking <em> something </em>.” He can feel himself blushing. It was literally the best kiss of his life. </p><p>David seems to feel something similar because, by god, he’s blushing and twisting a small smile. </p><p>It emboldens Patrick. “See?! You felt it too.”</p><p>David shakes his head jerkily. “I didn’t.”</p><p>God, Patrick wants to shake him. “David. Oh my fucking god. <em> Stop! </em> Why are you like this? Practically every interaction we’ve had since I got here, tells me that you’re attracted to me, that you like me. Everything <em> about you </em>says you like me, except your mouth right now.” Patrick can feel his face heating up again because a few minutes ago, it felt like David’s mouth was telling him the secrets of the universe. “I mean, your words…”</p><p> </p><p>***D***</p><p> </p><p>Patrick is blushing and looking at his lips and David wants to die. He’s never had anyone be so direct <em> and kind </em> and it’s making his brain short circuit. Because he simply doesn’t know what else to do, he tries to deflect one more time. “I don’t know what you want me to say.” He crosses his arms over his chest.</p><p>Patrick gives him a tight smile and closes his eyes. He heaves a sigh. “David. If you don’t tell me, right now, a definitive yes or no, to this, to <em> us </em>, I’m going to go upstairs. I’m going to go upstairs, and assume some things that may or may not be true. Wouldn’t you rather I know what’s true?”</p><p>David’s mind is stripping its gears. He wishes they could just fuck or fight or both and then just <em> be </em>a thing like all the other so-called relationships he’s had. This is torture. He draws out the conversation more. “I don’t… What would you assume?”</p><p>“Jesus Christ, David.” Patrick briefly presses the heels of hands to his eyes. “I’d assume that you don’t like <em> me, </em> as much as you like the fact that <em> I </em> like <em> you </em> . I’d assume that you’ll keep me in perpetual crush mode by kissing me every so often. I’d assume that we'll keep working together and flirting for a while and then a day will come when you’ll kiss me again, and you’ll push me away again<em>, </em> and I won’t be able to bear it any longer. I need you to let me in or let me go. David. Please. For fuck’s sake. Tell me what you want.”</p><p>David is utterly trapped. He doesn’t want Patrick assuming those things. But he can’t tell him how he feels, or what he wants! But fuck, Patrick is sitting there being so incredibly forthright. So boldly honest. It feels like skydiving when he whispers, “Patrick, I don’t know how.” He looks at his hands. </p><p>“Do you want me to go first?”</p><p>David looks up at him quickly. He didn’t expect him to have more to say. He opens his mouth but his throat is too tight. He just nods his head. </p><p>Patrick rubs his hands on his thighs and he stands. He walks over to the big painting and touches it reverently. David’s heart squeezes. “Remember the first night we met?” David nods when Patrick looks at him. “I came in the building and I heard your music and I was going to ask you to turn it down. When I first laid eyes on you David, I was so…” Patrick presses his palm on his forehead. “I literally jumped back out of the doorway so you wouldn’t see me.” </p><p>Patrick glances at David again. “Then I peeked around the door jamb like a little kid and I watched you work.” </p><p>David is suddenly very aware of the beating of his heart. He didn’t know that Patrick watched him like that. It’s deeply thrilling. He’s pinned in place by Patrick’s words. </p><p>“You were the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. And what you were doing was— watching you create was...astonishing. It <em> shifted </em> something in me.” Patrick quirks a smile at him then and scrubs his hand across the back of his neck. “I unpacked my car then, took everything upstairs, then I went back to your studio. That’s when you saw me.”</p><p>David remembers that night so well. The spark between them was immediate and bright as a welding arc. He presses his lips together and waits, breathless, for Patrick to continue.</p><p> </p><p>“I’d never met anyone like you. You just made me feel awake in a way I’d never felt before. I couldn’t wait to talk to you again.” Patrick is pacing now, back and forth across the face of the canvas. “And over these past few months you’ve let me see you. You let me watch you paint and when I made the connection between you and your art, I was a goner.” </p><p>He glances at David and then back at the painting, tracing his fingers over it. “You leave things to shine through. Elements that are hidden but not. You just have to be paying attention. And once I started paying attention I saw that you’re all in there. The solid framework on the first layer, the emotional colors, the marks and lines that seem erratic or chaotic but they’re not. The pops of contrasting color. It’s all just pure energy. Purely you expressing with movement that just happens to get captured because you have a paintbrush in your hand. That’s why it’s always been so mesmerizing for me to watch you paint. You tell your story, your in-the-moment, fully-present, right-now story. It’s like watching your EKG or brain waves on a monitor. It’s you, richly and profoundly layered. Lively, energetic, beautiful.”  Patrick turns to look at him again and his eyes are soft.  </p><p>“So here’s me, David. I like you. I like you a lot. And this is terrifying because I don’t have anything to offer you. I have basically no experience with men.” He starts ticking things off on his fingers. “I’m a boring business major from a very small town. I’m not beautiful. I’m not artistic. I have nothing to bring to the table.” Patrick stands in front of him, and jams his hands in his pockets, he’s looking at the floor. His voice is small. “I want to be with you, David, have… have more of you, but I have nothing to offer you. So that’s me. That’s what’s fucking with my head almost every day.” He sits down and leans back on the futon. He closes his eyes. “So please, David. For fuck’s sake, please tell me what you’re thinking.”</p><p>David is already overwhelmed by Patrick’s words. And now a rush of tenderness roars through him. The lump in his throat is suffocating and he swallows several times. Good god, Patrick could not be more wrong about himself. It’s stunning how wrong he is. He clears his throat, his voice a whisper. “I don’t know how to do this, Patrick. I’m going to just talk. Maybe don’t look at me, okay?”</p><p>Patrick keeps his eyes closed. “Okay.”</p><p>David’s hands are clasped tightly together in his lap. “I remember the first night we met, of course I do. You scared me, showing up like that, so I was trying to intimidate you, being all swear-y and aggressive and you seemed to look right through that. You looked at <em> me</em>. Patrick, when I kissed you the first time it was because you saw Painter David. You talked about communicating with music, like having another language. The second time I kissed you it was because you saw <em> me </em> in my <em> art</em>. Do you know how that felt? It felt like somebody finally understood <em> my </em> secret language I didn't think anyone else knew.”  </p><p>He leans back and in an unconscious self-comforting gesture, crosses his hands over his chest, pressing his palms there. He takes a breath. “Then with the Garden and everything. You took my vague, esoteric rambling and called it my vision, like it was important, like it had value. You took all my chaotic energy and looked at it like a resource instead of a flaw. You took it and made it useful. You’re so smart, and so grounded, and I like you. I like you so much.”  </p><p>David leans over his lap and puts his hands in his hair, pulling on handfuls close to the scalp to ground himself because this next part is too real. “<em>I’m </em> terrified okay? I’m terrified because you seeing all that makes me feel incredibly exposed. All the things you said just now about seeing me in my work? I don’t even know how to process that. And <em>I</em> have nothing to offer someone like <em> you</em>. I am flighty and moody. I’m high strung and high maintenance and I hate numbers and meetings and business stuff. I don’t know what you’d see in me outside a fun fuck.” </p><p>Patrick huffs out a quick breath but David continues. “And, yeah, that’d be fun for me too, because whether you know it or not, you’re fucking gorgeous, Patrick. You’re stupidly hot, with your athletic body and your guitar and your spreadsheets and your fugly-sexy running shorts. It’s ridiculous how hot you are.” David glances at Patrick, his eyes are still closed but he’s blushing and biting back a grin. </p><p>David takes a deep breath. “But I don’t want to just fuck around. You’d have regrets. You’d stop wanting to work here and you’d stop wanting me and I’d rather deny myself the short-term pleasure of, of <em> you, </em> and keep you around. Like. Longer term.” David flops back in his seat and looks up at the ceiling. </p><p>“Can I look at you now?”</p><p>“If you must.” </p><p>Patrick opens his eyes and focuses their amber light on David. He draws a shaky breath. “Okay. To be clear. We like each other and we’re both afraid that we’re somehow not enough?” He turns his body and pulls one leg under him, hooking his arm over the back of the futon. </p><p>“That seems to be the case, yeah.” David unconsciously mirrors Patrick’s gesture.</p><p>“You know we’re being idiots right?” </p><p>“Yeah, Stevie says so.”</p><p>“Brian thought so too.”</p><p>“Brian? What’d you tell him?”</p><p>“I didn’t have to tell him anything. He watched me watch you paint. But what clinched it, is when he found that slip of paper with your coffee order on it, still on my kitchen counter.”</p><p>“You still have that?”</p><p>“I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away. It was the second time we spoke and I just remember enjoying you so much.”</p><p>“You made fun of my hair.”</p><p>“I wanted to put my hands in it. You were all in white. God, you looked so good.” Patrick grimaces and chuckles. “Sorry, that was a bit much.”</p><p>David gives him a slow blink. “Mmm, not really.” </p><p>Something battles in Patrick’s eyes. “I just want you to be clear that I don’t want a so-called ‘fun fuck’.” </p><p>David controls his smile and levels a look at him. “You <em> don’t </em> want a fun fuck?” </p><p>Patrick’s cheekbones flush and he starts to stammer. “I, uh, I mean, I want to… do that. Have fun. With you.” He sees the smile on David’s face. He laughs softly and flails his hands helplessly.  “Damn, David, what are you trying to do to me?” Finally, returning David’s deep gaze he says, “I want that. I also want <em> more </em>than that.”</p><p>The sincerity is excessive. Patrick’s eyes are excessive. Now it’s David’s turn stammer and blush.  “Oh. I. Uh. Oh. Okay.”</p><p>Patrick scoots closer on the futon. “I just think I’d rather be with you and scared, than alone with my stupid fears. Can we just be scared together?”</p><p>Well that seems pretty simple. David scoots closer too.  His voice is a whisper. “Okay.” </p><p> </p><p>***P***</p><p> </p><p>Patrick’s brain is suddenly very loud. His thoughts clatter and ring like someone dropped a bucket of cowbells down a steel staircase. Fear, desire, joy, relief, all clamor for top billing in his head. His heart is beating too hard for rational thought. He can hardly believe he’s here. On the edge of the beginning of something with David and it’s hard to breathe. He, again, gets the sense that he’s been running toward this for a long time. And now he’s run right off the edge of a cliff and he’s in freefall. He swallows hard. “I want to apologize ahead of time for how deeply, tragically, uncool I am.”</p><p>David smiles so sweetly. “Yeah, me too.”  </p><p>“See, I was good with the words a minute ago but now, not so much. So before you change your mind about this, I think maybe, I should go?” Patrick stands. Good god. He is in no way prepared for <em> anything </em>with David. He takes a breath and watches David stand too. He jams his hands in his pockets again. </p><p>David steps close, he looks disappointed. “Okay, well, I know it took me a minute to get here but—.” David puts his hands on Patrick’s shoulders. “Hey, you’re shaking.”</p><p>“I don’t know what’s next, David. I’ve wanted this, you, for a while and I’m just...I’m just a little overwhelmed I guess. See? Not cool.” </p><p>“It’s okay Patrick. It’s okay. What can I do?” </p><p>“I don’t know. Can I just.” Patrick steps into David, wraps his arms around his waist and buries his face in his bare shoulder, the strap of his overalls is rough against his cheek. This is not helping Patrick feel more in control. </p><p>David holds him. Patrick takes several shaky breaths. “I guess this is part of my fear showing up. I don’t have any experience, David. I feel like you’ll have some expectations around... and I want...but I’m just. I’m not.” He pulls David closer.</p><p>David presses a kiss into his hair. “Hey, no, Patrick, hey, look at me.” Patrick allows David to push him back by the shoulders. He tips his face close to Patrick’s. “Listen, we can go slow. Just know that in the moment, you’ll be perfectly fine.”</p><p>“How can you know that?”</p><p>David tilts his head and cocks an eyebrow at him. “You do remember kissing me a few minutes ago right?” </p><p>Patrick closes his eyes against the heat lightning that flashes through his body. “Yes, yes I do.” He huffs an embarrassed laugh. </p><p>David nuzzles his cheek. His voice is low. “You were in the moment then. How did that feel?”</p><p>Patrick nudges David’s nose with his own. He kisses the corner of his mouth and murmurs, “It felt good.”</p><p>David places a kiss high on his cheekbone, then his temple, then that tender spot in front of his ear. He whispers, “So you weren’t uneasy?” </p><p>Patrick turns his face to kiss along David’s jaw. “No, not uneasy.” David brings a hand up and holds his face. Patrick exhales, “David.”</p><p>David angles Patrick’s head to the side and puts an open mouthed kiss on his throat. He breathes hot against his skin. “You weren’t thinking about what was next?”</p><p>Patrick’s head lolls back and his hands find David’s hair. His voice rasps. “I wasn’t thinking at all.”</p><p>David kisses Patrick’s neck and then, with his lips right against Patrick’s, he says, “Exactly.” and kisses him. </p><p> </p><p>***D***</p><p> </p><p>Going slow is going to be difficult. As soon as he kisses Patrick, David feels his shoulders drop and the tension leave his body. Patrick runs his hands up his back and under the straps of his overalls, pressing firmly against his shoulder blades. He licks at David’s lips and when David opens for him he leans into the kiss hungrily. The spark in David’s belly sizzles and pops, heating up and spreading, warming his pelvis.</p><p>Patrick is humming with pleasure. He breaks the kiss and presses his face to his neck. “My god, David.” He runs his hand down David’s side, squeezing his hip. He slouches a little and he grips his thigh, coaxing it up. David hooks his leg around Patrick’s hip. Patrick peels the overall strap off of David’s shoulder and drags his open mouth across his collar bone to the round muscle of his shoulder. He digs his fingers into his tricep and bites his shoulder. </p><p>David gasps. “Fuck, Patrick!.” </p><p>Patrick seems to come back to earth with that. He drops David’s leg off his hip and pulls the strap back up over his shoulder. “Oh my god, I’m sorry. Jesus, I don’t know. My god. You do things to me, David. Fuck!” Pink cheeks, wet, red lips, dark hooded eyes. David wonders how on earth he managed to keep himself from this boy for so long. </p><p>David’s not about to let him get too far away. He clasps his hands behind Patrick’s neck and keeps him from backing away. “No, no. Don’t apologize, you are magnificent. Jesus Christ, Patrick. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay with—” </p><p>Patrick cut him off with a kiss. “I’m okay. Are you okay?” He kisses him again before he lets him answer. </p><p>“Yes, I am, I just want you to be okay, A minute ago you were worried about my expectations and were ready to bolt so...” </p><p>Patrick stops then and looks into his eyes for a long moment. “You said I’d be fine in the moment. I believe you. I trust you.”</p><p>Too overwhelmed for words, David kisses him.</p><p> </p><p>***P***</p><p> </p><p>There are murmurs and nudges and steps taken. A dance that leads them back to the futon. Patrick pulls David down on top of him. He sighs under the weight of him as if he’s finally grounded, finally anchored to the earth in a way that won’t allow him to fly off. Finally. Finally.</p><p>David heaves a sigh and exhales a happy hum that turns into a soft groan. The sound makes Patrick take a quick breath and involuntarily thrust his hips. His instinct is to flip them over. He wants David under him so he can grind and grind down into him. He maneuvers his body and starts to push him over.</p><p>“Whoa, whoa”  David sounds breathless and amused.</p><p>“Wha— what?” </p><p>“You’re about to roll us right onto the floor.” </p><p>Whispering, Patrick leans up for more kisses. “Sorry, sorry, kiss me.” </p><p>David kisses him again but it’s less urgent and not nearly long enough. “I’m thinking we should slow down?”</p><p>Patrick relaxes back on the cushion and gazes at David’s face. He reaches up and caresses his cheek, running his thumb across his lower lip. He doesn’t want to slow down. David is right about being in the moment. Patrick just wants more. All of David. All of the things with David. He slips his hand around the back of David’s head and pulls him in but doesn't kiss him. He breathes, “Please,” against David’s lips. “Just one more?”</p><p>Something flashes across David’s face. An electric combination of tenderness and heat. Patrick thinks he’s about to say something, but he kisses him instead and Patrick doesn’t think anything at all for several long minutes. </p><p>David finally breaks the kiss. “You’re going to kill me Patrick.”</p><p>Patrick smiles dopily up at him. “I kinda feel like I’m dyin’ already.” </p><p>David shifts his body so he’s more or less wedged against the back of the futon and only half on top of Patrick. Patrick wiggles to give him more space but also turns his body so they’re still pressed together. </p><p>Patrick slips his hand under the bib of David’s overalls and is petting his chest with the back of his hand. “Come upstairs with me.”</p><p>David pulls his hand out gently and kisses the knuckles. “Is that a good idea, though?”</p><p>Patrick turns his hand and puts David’s palm to his lips and kisses it. “I think it’s an excellent idea.”</p><p>David tries to pull his hand away, but Patrick holds it fast. “Slow, though, don’t you want to go slow?”</p><p>Patrick murmurs, “Mmhm, slow, yes.” Then he gets his mouth on the webbing between David’s thumb and index finger, he scrapes his teeth up and pulls David’s thumb into his mouth. The slick suction makes David’s hips thrust forward. Patrick releases his thumb and grins. “Yeah, like that, but upstairs, in my bed, naked.” </p><p>David pulls his hand away. “Oh my god, Patrick!” </p><p>Patrick laughs then and rolls back as much as he can, giving David more space. “Okay, okay. But it’s so late David. You don’t want to sleep on this, do you? Come upstairs and sleep with me. Just sleep.” He grabs David’s hand again and presses his knuckles against his lips.</p><p>“Patrick.” David’s resolve appears to waver. </p><p>“Please, I’ll be a gentleman, I promise.” Patrick yawns hugely then, covering his mouth with the back of David’s hand. “God, I’m so sorry. It’s been a hell of a couple days hasn’t it?” </p><p>David smiles. “It really has. Okay. I’ll come up. But you go. I’m going to take a shower down here and then I’ll come up okay?”</p><p>Patrick’s eyes are soft, and fond. “Whatever you want.” He scratches lightly at the back of David’s neck. “I’ll leave the door unlocked.” </p><p>Patrick is standing in the kitchen, in a t-shirt and boxers when he hears the door open. David comes around the corner into the kitchen and leans against the counter. “Hi.”  </p><p>Patrick swoons at the sight of him. Crisp white t-shirt, thin, black sleep pants. He sets down the two glasses he’d just filled with water but he hangs on to them, afraid that he’ll throw himself at David if he’s not nailed down somewhere. “Hi. Um. Water?” He offers David a glass.</p><p>“Yes, thank you.” David takes a sip and watches him carefully.</p><p>Patrick is suddenly too tired to be awkward. He picks up his own water glass and steps into David’s space, kissing his cheek. “I’m glad you’re here. Come on.” He walks to the bedroom area and stops at the foot of the bed. “Pick a side.”</p><p>David goes to the right and sets his bag on the floor. Patrick sets his water glass on the left side night stand and pulls back the covers. David takes another sip of water and sets the glass down. They both stand there for a minute, staring at each other across the bed. Patrick takes a deep breath and lays down on his back and flips the covers back on David’s side. “Come on.”</p><p>David finally crawls into bed. Patrick pulls the blankets over both of them. “I’m a cuddler so if you wake up and I’m spooning you, I pre-apologize. Or not, if you’re into it.” </p><p>David smiles. “I’m a cuddler. Registered small spoon.” </p><p>Patrick chuckles. “Nice. Wanna come here?” He opens his arm and David scooches under it, laying his head on Patrick’s chest. They both heave a great sigh and giggle breathlessly at the synchronicity. “Good night, David.”</p><p>“Good night, Patrick.”</p><p> </p><p>***D***</p><p> </p><p>David wakes up slowly. It’s dark. He feels warm and safe. There’s a very heavy arm over his ribs and a body radiating heat, pressed against his back. He must be dreaming of Patrick again. David closes his eyes and drifts. He rouses a little when he feels movement behind him. Mmmm, Patrick dream. David hums and pushes his hips back. The hand that was loose on the bed in front of him, presses against his chest and there’s warm lips on the back of his neck. Oh, this is <em> such </em> a good dream already. He moves his ass against the heat behind him. A bite on his neck brings him fully awake. </p><p> </p><p>***P***</p><p> </p><p>Patrick wakes up with a start. He smiles when he finds himself wrapped around David. He peers over him to look at the clock. It’s just past three in the morning. David stirs, then moves his backside against him. Patrick flattens his palm against David’s chest and pulls him close. He kisses the back of his neck. </p><p>David wiggles some more and Patrick huffs a quiet laugh and bites him lightly on the tendon at the back of his neck. David’s hand comes up and cups the back of Patrick’s head. “Mmmm, I’m so glad I’m not dreammmminnnng.” David’s voice rumbles under Patrick’s hand and he holds him tighter. He’s already getting hard against David’s ass. He grinds forward just a little. </p><p>“David.” </p><p>David turns his upper body so he can look at him. Patrick is taken aback at the sweet softness of David’s face, barely awake in this quiet hour. Like he’s not wearing any armor and the tension of being awake hasn’t found him. </p><p>Patrick leans in and kisses his lips. “You’re gorgeous.” </p><p>David kisses him and murmurs, “You’re delirious.” Then kisses him again. And again. </p><p>It’s achingly slow, sleepy kissing, warm and lush. The heat blooms and grows unhurriedly, until David breaks the kiss, breathing hard. “This isn’t slow, Patrick. We should stop?” </p><p>Patrick nuzzles into his neck, and sucks a spot there. “Mmm, David, I feel like we’ve been having foreplay for weeks now. I know I’ll need, you know, you to show me or whatever, but I want you. I want you now.” He bites then, brief but hard and David gasps. </p><p>Then David is pressing back into him and Patrick’s hardness is pushing against the crack of David’s ass. Patrick runs his hand down David’s side, down his thigh and back up. Patrick’s hands feel electric, smoothing over all that skin, soft body hair, lean muscle. David is so deliciously, undeniably male. It makes Patrick dizzy with desire. He strokes over David’s ass, and down, massaging David’s thighs. “Jesus Christ, David, your body! Your ass, your thighs are so thick, god, your thighs David...fuck.” </p><p>David pushes back against him and holds the back of his neck. He rasps, “You wanna fuck my thighs?” Patrick’s face goes slack. He nods dumbly. David takes his hand and kisses the palm. He whispers, “I would like it if you said it, Patrick. It would be hot if you said it.”</p><p>Patrick groans. “I wanna fuck your thighs, I want…” The words get lost in a grunt as he grinds hard into David’s backside. “My god, David, holy sh—”</p><p>He stops talking when David twists to see him. Patrick touches his face, runs a finger across his lips, takes a shuddering breath and kisses him. David pulls away and peels his t-shirt off. Patrick’s breath quickens. This is happening. Patrick pulls off his own t-shirt and without hesitating, takes off his boxers too. He sighs with pleasure at the skin on skin contact. He presses his lips between David’s shoulder blades. “God, you feel so good David.” </p><p>David chuckles. “Oh, baby. Just wait.” He leans over the side of the bed and rummages in his bag. He brings out a bottle of lube and snuggles his ass back into Patrick’s lap. David takes Patrick’s hand and guides it to the waistband of his sleep pants. “Help me take these off?” Patrick nods his head against his back and David twists to look at him again. “Talk to me Patrick, it’s how I know you’re okay. I want to hear you.”</p><p>Patrick whimpers. “Fuck. David. Yes. Take off your pants.” He pushes the waistband down. Murmuring “Take ‘em off, take ‘em off,” as he helps pull them off David’s feet. </p><p>David grabs the lube and slathers a liberal amount between his legs. He lifts his top leg and reaches between them to grip Patrick’s cock. </p><p>Patrick is trembling with desire. He’s never been so hard. He yelps when David touches him. </p><p>David stills. “You okay?”</p><p>Patrick’s voice shakes. “Yeah, I’m so good, David.” </p><p>David closes his thighs tightly around him and says hoarsely, “You sure?”</p><p>Patrick is seeing stars, the heat and pressure between David’s legs is like nothing he’s ever felt before. He slurs, “Uh huh, yuh, ssso surrrrrre.” </p><p>“Then fuck me.”</p><p>Patrick slams his hips forward, knocking a breathless grunt from David. He’s never had his body respond involuntarily before, not like this. His body just has to<em> thrust</em>. He pumps his hips a few times and forces himself to stop.</p><p>David whispers, “Patrick.”</p><p>Patrick’s voice is strained. “I don’t want to come yet. I want this to last. Jesus…Can you turn around? I want to see you, can you?”</p><p>David hums and releases Patrick from between his legs. Patrick scoots back and grabs David’s hip, rolling him over. They’re face to face, breathing each other’s breath. Eyes locked. David holds his face and whispers, “Hi.” </p><p>“Hi— Uh!” Patrick presses his forehead to David’s as he guides him back between his thighs. “Uh, my god…” </p><p>David twists away from him and finds the bottle of lube. He takes Patrick’s hand off his hip, and pours a puddle of lube into his palm and guides it to his own erection. Patrick gasps. “Oh my god David, oh my god omygod omygod.” He starts to stroke David’s cock, thick and hot in his hand. Patrick wants it in his mouth suddenly and the thought makes him start thrusting again. </p><p>Wanting so badly for it to last, he tries to move slowly. Long, slow strokes. Rolling his hips forward and back. He tries to match the rhythm of his hand on David. He’s never felt anything like this. Never experienced desire so strongly. Never wanted to dissolve into someone’s body. Never wanted to completely consume a person. He’s drunk on all of it.</p><p>“Paatrick, I, oh, fuck, I’m close. Don’t stop, please don’t…” David puts his hand over Patrick’s.</p><p>Patrick feels David’s body tensing and arching into him.  He watches his face contort with pleasure. “Yeah, David, lemme hear you, lemme hear you.” </p><p>David throws back his head. “Oh —”</p><p>Watching David come is the most exquisite thing Patrick has ever seen. David says his name in a long breathy moan that spins up and out and that is it for Patrick. He presses his face into David’s exposed throat and digs his fingers into his hip and rides him. His vision tunnels down to a spot on David’s neck, a sheen of sweat there. Then his orgasm slams through him. He wails, he bites, shudders through layers of aftershocks. He hears himself whisper on each exhale, <em> David. </em>When he can finally identify the edges of his body, he wraps his arms around David and holds him tight.</p><p> </p><p>***D***</p><p> </p><p>David wakes up like he fell asleep. A slow drift to consciousness. He peeks at the clock. It’s ten fifteen in the morning. He can hear Patrick in the kitchen. He stretches like a cat, then rolls onto his belly and burrows under the sheets. Everything smells like Patrick and sex. Sense memory causes a bolt of pleasure to ripple through his body. He closes his eyes and breathes in the scent.</p><p>He hears Patrick coming back, sounds like he’s pulling a chair over to the side of the bed. David doesn’t come out from under the sheets. He just listens. There’s the familiar <em> thunk </em>of Patrick’s guitar when it knocks gently against his knee. Now he’s tuning it. David smiles to himself and curls around the sweet satisfied glow in his chest. </p><p>
  <em> (Strawberries by Caamp) </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Be my mind, don't like to think for myself all of the time </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Be my soul, look into these eyes like no one before </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Be my light, sunrise laughing cause we stayed up all night </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Be my map, and we’ll leave with all the treasure we can grab </em>
</p><p>David is still hiding under the sheet. Eyes wide, lips pressed tightly over his smile.</p><p>
  <em> Be my lake, summer sand and a strawberry milkshake </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Be my pride, stay under my skin, don't let me take what is not mine </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Be my house, strong and sturdy, far from town </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Be my home, just think of all the places we'll go </em>
</p><p>David tightly closes his eyes and tries to get a hold of the gush of joy that burbles up in his throat. He opens his eyes and very slowly, inches the sheet down, until he can see Patrick. He’s shirtless, tilted back in the chair. One foot on the bed. Looking directly at him. He sings.</p><p>
  <em> Be my blood, oh I’d shoot the moon and it wouldn't be enough </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Be my books, head on your shoulders with damn good looks </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Be my hands, and I'll paint your picture darlin’, the best I can </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Be my heart, I've got you in the end, I wish I had you from the start. </em>
</p><p>Patrick smiles shyly at him. He takes his foot down and lets the chair thump to the floor. He leans the guitar against the wall and crawls over the bed. He kisses David’s temple. “Want coffee?”</p><p>David swallows hard. He can hardly believe this isn’t a dream. In the deepest well of night, he’d woken up in this man’s arms and felt<em> safe. </em> They’d had sex and it was glorious but it’s the memory of after that’s lifting his heart against his breastbone. Patrick, radiating happiness, kissing his face over and over, telling him that he’s beautiful, that he’s amazing, telling David that he’s never felt like this before. Then, Patrick gently cleaning him up, and spooning him back to sleep. How can this be real? How can Patrick just sing him awake and then offer him coffee as if David hadn’t just had the sweetest night of his whole life? How? </p><p>Patrick is still looking at him. “Coffee, babe?”</p><p><em> Babe. Oh my god. </em> David’s voice is rusty with sleep.  “Yes, please.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. The Luckiest</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>***P***</p><p> </p><p>Patrick hands David his coffee and climbs back into bed with his laptop. David takes a sip and hums appreciatively. “Mmm, This is an acceptable cup of coffee. How did you do this?”</p><p>Patrick ducks his head a little. “Um. I happened to pick up some caramel macchiato pods for the Keurig.”</p><p>“And cocoa powder.” David’s eyes are doing something and Patrick’s stomach flips. </p><p>“And cocoa powder.”</p><p>David leans over and kisses his cheek. He lingers and nuzzles his ear. When he leans back, he’s squinting at him. “Thank you. And when exactly did you<em> happen </em> to pick up some caramel macchiato pods? Like how long ago?”</p><p>Patrick snorts and shakes his head. “Not telling.” He can feel the blush heating up his neck. He tries to change the subject. “Look at…”</p><p>“Wait, you have a Keurig? You don’t drink coffee.” David looks both delighted, and incredulous.</p><p>“I sometimes drink coffee. Hey, I want to show you the website I’m building.” He opens the laptop, hoping to dissuade further questions.</p><p>David pulls his head back in surprise. “You’re building a website? For what?”</p><p>Patrick taps at the keys. “For the Garden. I thought we could photograph everyone’s work and offer it for sale on the site.”</p><p>David scoots up the bed and leans close. “I like that idea. Let’s put artist profiles in there too. People are more likely to buy an artist's work if they know something about you.”</p><p>Patrick kisses his cheek. “Brilliant idea. What should we call the site? I’m thinking <em> The Garden of Artin’.” </em></p><p>David looks predictably horrified, which was Patrick’s intention.  “That’s a real quick <em> no </em>.”</p><p>Patrick grins. “Garden Art.”</p><p>“Sounds like those glass balls on a stand, you stick amongst your petunias in your suburban front yard.”</p><p>Patrick frowns intently. “G-ART-en.”</p><p>“Now you’re just fucking with me.”</p><p>He smiles and kisses him. “Aw. You caught on.” </p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>***D***</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> (Chainsmoking by Jacob Banks) </em>
</p><p>David turns on the music and contemplates the big canvas. Two days after their night together, he can’t stop thinking about Patrick. The sex, the spooning, the singing, the coffee! The fact that Patrick bought a coffee maker and his favorite coffee makes him swoon. It’s possibly the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for him. He can’t even think about how long ago he may have gotten it and why. Patrick. Patrick. It’s like static. A sizzling buzz, constantly running in the background, interrupted occasionally by extremely vivid memories that make his body shudder. </p><p>Despite already having had some pretty spectacular sex that first night, they’re still trying to go slow. David hopes a little distance will help his starving heart calm down. It doesn’t seem to be working because he’s in the studio at a suspiciously early hour. Conveniently close to the time Patrick returns from his run. Not that he knows for sure that Patrick is running. For all he knows he’s still asleep. In his bed. David’s hips jerk. <em> Jesus.  </em></p><p>God, he needs to <em> paint. </em> He feels weighed down by his heavy boots so he takes them off and flexes his bare feet on the cool concrete floor. He picks up two brushes, one in each hand. They’re designed for applying wallpaper paste, wide with short bristles. He saturates them both in a deep pool of white paint. He lets his mind turn off and he stills, closing his eyes. He leans into the canvas, pressing his chest and forehead against it. He breathes. He becomes aware of an expanding lightness in his center. Warm, but airy and vast. </p><p>What he does next comes from that place. He squats at the bottom center of the canvas, then leaps straight up, dragging the brushes against the canvas. At the apex of the leap, he flings his arms wide open, and in a hard throwing gesture, flicks his hands to either side, hurling twin splashes of paint that radiate out from the center. He backs away. It looks like huge wings have opened. His throat tightens and he laughs.</p><p>He adds a tiny blob of Payne’s grey to the pool of white on his tray. He mixes it thoroughly, then repeats the motion of squatting low and leaping up, splashing out wings. He adds more grey and does it one more time. Each layer, slightly darker than the last, all slightly offset. He runs the thin edge of each brush along the top of the wings. He steps back again and looks. </p><p>David then grabs a smaller brush and loads it with Payne's grey. He paints a sweeping curve, outlining the upper edge of each wing. He tosses that brush and picks up the spray bottle. He carefully sprays the line of grey and it drips and runs erratically through the still wet, white paint. He sprays a fine mist well above the wings. David finds his bottle of iridescent medium and dumps some on his palette. He loads a clean brush and using soft, feathery swipes, paints the iridescence into the misted area above the wings. That too, begins to run down through the wings. </p><p> </p><p>***P***</p><p> </p><p>Patrick's day starts bright and beautiful. He’s running and his head is full of David. That night had been a revelation. The depth of lust, of pleasure, of <em> intimacy, </em> had rocked him back on his heels. It was a heady combination. He had no idea he could <em> feel </em> so much. So much of <em> everything.  </em></p><p>In the spirit of going slow, David hasn’t spent the night again. Honestly, he doesn’t know why they’re even going slow. Patrick is all in. His heart has never felt so full of another person before. And his body burns for David’s touch all the time. He’s never given head before and at the moment, it’s all he can think about. He wants to try everything. Just the thought of <em> everything </em> pulls a sharp <em> uh </em> out of his throat. His step falters a bit and he has to shake himself to get on track. He gets the sense that David is being careful with his heart. His own and Patrick’s. The thought makes his chest feel a soft, liquid warmth. He loves it. </p><p>Patrick can hear the music coming from David’s studio as he crosses the back lot. He jogs up the stairs by Jake’s studio and walks across the dock to David’s door. The music is sultry. A coarse vocal and a drawn out, pulsing bass. Patrick steps into the door and stops dead.</p><p>David is leaning into his canvas. Patrick hears his long slow breath. He watches him squat down, then leap up, opening huge wings on the canvas. A swarm of butterflies swirl in Patrick’s belly.  It’s so powerful. It’s...it’s David. <em> Opening. </em>Tears prickle his eyes. Patrick has never seen anything so raw, so purely expressive. He holds his breath and watches as David mixes paint and then leaps wings into existence. </p><p>When David sees him, his dreamy expression darkens and he bites his lip. He looks at the painting and then back at Patrick. He tilts his chin up and blinks slowly. Patrick can practically hear him say, <em> That’s for you. </em>David takes a few steps toward Patrick and just stands. The air crackles between them.</p><p>Patrick steps into the studio and pulls the door chain hard. The door rattles down fast and slams closed. He reaches over his head and grabs the back of his t-shirt and pulls it over his head. He tosses it aside while he toes off his shoes.</p><p>David throws the paintbrushes over his shoulder. “Oh, fuck yeah.” He strips his shirt off.</p><p>They close the gap between them and fall on each other, grappling for control. David pulls on Patrick’s waist, bending him back, grabbing his ass, gripping the back of his neck hard and kissing him aggressively. </p><p>Patrick wrestles back control. He loops an arm around David’s lower back and, bending his knees, hooks the other under his thigh. He hauls his leg around his hip and straightens up, lifting him off the ground. He turns their bodies and walks them to the futon. </p><p>David, confident of where they are in the space, wraps his arms around Patrick’s neck and uses his body weight to fling himself backward, causing Patrick to pitch forward. They land so hard on the futon that it slides across the floor. The locked wheels screech, the futon crashes open into its bed form. </p><p>There’s a second when they’re both so surprised and delighted by this, that the moment almost turns comedic. David laughs and Patrick, grinning, dips his head and bites David’s neck and shoulder, making him gasp. </p><p>David tries to flip them over but Patrick resists him. He pushes himself up and straddles David’s hips. He takes David’s wrists and leaning forward, pins them on either side of David’s head. He stops just short of pressing his lips to David’s. “I’ve wanted to take these jeans off you since the first time I saw them on you.” </p><p>“Yeah?” David lifts his head to kiss Patrick but he leans out of reach.</p><p>“Yeah.” Patrick lets go of David’s hands. </p><p>David bites his lip and puts his hands behind his head. “And then what?”</p><p>Patrick strokes down his chest and belly, scooting back. He presses his thumbs into David’s hip bones. He rubs his face against David’s crotch. Scraping his teeth along his erection, biting at the soft denim. He sits up and unbuttons the paint speckled white jeans. He draws the zipper down slowly, watching David’s face as he does.</p><p>His voice is rough. “I want to taste you David, I want you in my mouth.” He’s blushing feverishly but can’t even care. He desperately wants to get his mouth on David’s cock. </p><p>David sucks in a breath. “You don’t have to if…”</p><p>“Oh, I want to, David. I<em> need </em>to. I want to make you feel good. Can I?”</p><p> </p><p>***D***</p><p> </p><p>How could he say no to that? He can’t and he doesn’t. “Yes, please, yeah.” David’s center is still expanding, opening and Patrick is falling right into him. </p><p>Patrick pauses, his hands gripping the waistband of David’s jeans, one second away from hauling them down his hips. He leans over and puts his mouth on David’s chest. He laves his tongue between his pecs. He nuzzles down his stomach and licks a circle around his belly button. He sits back on his heels. “I’ve been fantasizing about this, you know.” </p><p>“Have you?”</p><p>“Oh, yeah.” Patrick pulls his jeans and underwear down his hips in one quick jerk. David exhales noisily. His erection slaps heavily against his belly and bobs as Patrick stands and pulls David’s pants over his feet and off. Patrick climbs between his legs, eyes so dark. His tongue peeks out, slipping across his lower lip unconsciously. “My god David, you are so… so sexy.”</p><p>David grins and bites his lip. He watches Patrick carefully, as he trails a finger lightly up his shaft. He looks mesmerized. He looks beautiful, sitting there in just his running shorts, tented up by his hard-on. They’re still discovering each other’s bodies. It’d been so dark that first night, They’d barely seen each other. And god, Patrick’s body is so <em> inviting. </em>Strong, but not overly lean so his pale, tender flesh is so soft, over that foundation of hard muscle. It's a combination David didn’t know he loved. “You’re beautiful, Patrick. Gorgeous.” </p><p>Patrick scoots down and presses his face just inside David’s hip bone and drags his mouth down, tantalizingly close, his soft stubble scratching his cock. He nuzzles in, breathing in his scent. He pushes his legs apart and bites the inside of his thigh. David’s body twitches hard and he bucks up. “Sorry, sorry, I’m not trying to, you know, rush you or anything.” </p><p>Patrick looks up at him with hooded eyes and a dirty smirk. “Mhm. Thank you for letting me take my time.” But Patrick wastes none. He simply takes him into his mouth, not too far, just tasting. David presses his head back against the futon and makes a breathy noise. Patrick swirls his tongue. He hums contentedly and slides down a little more. So slick. David makes a choked sound. Patrick chuckles around him and the vibration has David slapping both hands down on the futon, one, two, three times. Patrick slides his mouth down further, his tongue leading the way.  </p><p>David is shaking with the effort of keeping still. His whole body wants to thrust up into the slick heat of Patrick’s mouth. It feels incredible. And it’s Patrick. Patrick <em> wants </em> him, wants to make him feel good. Patrick’s got a hand on him now and he’s working to establish a rhythm. </p><p>David clutches at the futon but can’t get a hold of it. His hands itch to grab Patrick’s head so he puts them on his own. He clenches his fists close to his scalp. A low moan escapes him. Patrick responds with a guttural sound. He hollows his cheeks and sucks hard, picking up the pace. </p><p>David pitches his head back and groans. “God, Patrick, yes. You feel so good.” He’s already getting close. Patrick is moaning steadily, broken occasionally when he takes him too deep. It’s excruciatingly hot to hear him. “I’m close, so good.” Patrick starts turning his head to the side a bit, every time he comes up, twisting his mouth around the head. David is losing his mind. He pants, “I’m gonna come, baby. Pull off.” Patrick doesn’t. He scrabbles at Patrick’s shoulders. “Pull off, pull off!” Patrick just growls. </p><p>David grips his shoulders and keens high and loud as he comes. Patrick manages to swallow most of it. He looks up. He clears his throat and wipes his chin and his eyes are so hot and happy, he positively <em> glows </em> at David. </p><p>David is quaking through aftershocks and he reaches for Patrick. “Come up here and kiss me.”</p><p>Patrick crawls up his body and lays fully on him and kisses him. “Was it okay?”</p><p>Sweet man. My god, he makes David feel so much. “Okay?! Patrick you were incredible.”</p><p>“I did good?” His big eyes are full of hope and more. So much more.</p><p>David’s stomach swoops so hard he grunts. “Uh, Yeah. You did good, baby. You did so fucking good.” </p><p>Patrick rolls off of him and groans. David rolls on his side and reaches for him. “Now it’s your—” He’s touching the front of Patrick’s thin running shorts. They are sticky with come. “Oh my.”</p><p>“Sorry.” Patrick’s voice is strained, embarrassed. </p><p>David snuggles into his side and throws an arm over his chest. “No babe, no sorry. It’s <em> so </em> hot. You just owe me a throatful of come now.”</p><p>A groaning laugh punches out of Patrick. “I’m good for it.”</p><p>“Yeah you are.” </p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> (12:24pm) P. Brewer: Ray will be there in a half an hour to take pics. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (12:25pm) D. Rose: Ugh </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (12:25pm) P. Brewer: I know. But he’s a surprisingly good photographer. You saw Samuel and Marisol’s pics for the website right? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (12:26pm) D. Rose: I know. I did. They’re annoyingly good. Just. Ugh. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (12:27pm) P. Brewer: Okay David. *kiss face emoji* </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (12:28pm) D. Rose: *angry face emoji* </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (12:30pm) P. Brewer: I’ll be there in a minute with your coffee and something sweet. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (12:30pm) D. Rose: Bring me something sweet and I’ll give you something sweet. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>***P***</p><p> </p><p>Patrick walks into David’s studio with his laptop open on his arm. David is painting, so he stops just inside the door to watch. He thought he’d be used to this by now, but he is not. If anything it’s even more compelling now that he’s seen into David. Felt his heart under his own. It feels like a gift to watch him communicate with paint. Watching him is a fever dream of sensory input, now that he knows David and knows his body. The music. His movement. The colors. His whole being so totally focused. Now that Patrick has been on the receiving end of that focus, and after what happened right in front of that painting last week, watching him like this could easily be considered foreplay for Patrick.</p><p>But it’s eleven thirty in the morning and there’s an elementary school tour coming through in thirty minutes. He shakes himself out of his reverie and moves into the space. David notices him and gives him a gorgeous smile. Patrick’s stomach swoops. He’s got it so bad. </p><p> </p><p>***D***</p><p> </p><p>David can feel Patrick’s presence before he even sees him. Maybe he can smell him. He continues to paint, knowing what it means to let him see, even now. Knowing what it does to them both to have this conduit open between them. He finally turns to look at him and Patrick’s smile is like a sunbeam and David could burst.</p><p>They make themselves comfortable on the futon and Patrick shows him the screen. “I want you to see your paintings on our website.” </p><p>David takes the laptop from him and scrolls through the pictures. “God, they look <em> good, </em> Patrick don’t they look good?” </p><p>“They do.”</p><p>“Ray photographed like, thirty of my paintings, why are there only ten pieces shown?”</p><p>“We wanted to keep the site manageable, and not overwhelm the customer, so each artist gets ten pieces to show for now. That way if something sells we already have photos to update the site with new work. It’s all flexible though. Samuel has gotten an inquiry already and he was able to share more photos. That’s why you have a flash drive of your work.”</p><p>David looks at him. He can <em> feel </em>the hearts in his eyes but can’t help it. “You are something else Patrick Brewer.”</p><p>Patrick blushes. “I’m glad you’re pleased.”</p><p>“I’d be pleased to take you upstairs right now and suck your thick cock.” </p><p>Patrick groans, then kisses him hard. “Jesus, David. You’re like a siren. No. The kids are coming in soon. You don’t need to greet them with come on your breath.” David pouts. </p><p>Patrick kisses his cheek. “These are the sixth graders. You loved the last group of sixth graders.”</p><p>“Not as much as I love your fat dick down my thro—”</p><p>Patrick stands quickly, adjusting his pants. “You’re. Damn. Just get ready for the kids!”</p><p>David laughs.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em> (12:36pm) P. Brewer: The Cafe is out of turkey, they’ve got tuna and bologna… </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (12:37pm) D. Rose: Ew. Neither. Maybe just a salad. The guy I’m dating is pretty athletic so I’m trying to keep it tight. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (12:37pm) P. Rose: Any tighter and you’ll kill me David  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (12:39pm) D. Rose: You’re blushing aren’t you? You’re standing at the cafe counter and you’re blushing. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (12:39pm) P. Brewer: I’m getting you the tuna melt. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (12:40pm) D. Rose: Fine by me, have fun kissing my tuna mouth </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (12:40pm) P. Brewer: How can you be so sure I’ll kiss you? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (12:41pm) D. Rose: image.034-0308989 *close up of David’s mouth, slightly open, his lower lip shines wetly, the tip of his tongue touches the corner of his mouth*.  Get me a salad or I’ll tell you how I’m sure and then blushing won’t be the only indignity you suffer at the cafe counter.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (12:46pm) P. Brewer: image.47-3475j04 *close up of Patrick’s crotch, his fingers are tucked into the crease of his thigh and his thumb sits alongside his  denim covered erection* You’re a menace (I took this pic in my car btw) </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (12:47pm) D. Rose: I know exactly what I want for lunch. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>***P***</p><p> </p><p>Patrick’s body is thrumming with desire. They’ve been together for over a month and he’s still overwhelmed by the intensity of the lust he feels every time they get physical. That fucking picture of David’s mouth is enough to send him over the edge.</p><p>Patrick opens the door to studio two fully expecting to see David smirking at him from his seat at the table. But he’s not there. Patrick puts down their lunch orders and goes back into the hall and opens David’s studio. </p><p>The lights are off, but he can see David stretched out on the futon, one arm up behind his head. It’s stormy outside so the light coming through the tall windows is soft and grey. </p><p>David is massaging his crotch. “Hi.” He uses that breathy voice that shivers through Patrick’s body every single time he uses it. </p><p>Patrick closes the door and locks it without a word. He unbuttons his shirt as he crosses the room. </p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>David is catching his breath. “Goddamn Patrick, you got good at that so fucking fast!” </p><p>Patrick kisses David languidly, letting him taste himself on Patrick’s tongue. “You don’t seem to realize how motivated I am by the sounds you make.”</p><p>“Mmm, if that’s what it takes, I will sing you an aria baby.” </p><p>Patrick huffs laughter against David’s neck and untangles himself. “Come on.” He pulls on David’s arms to get him up. “Your salad is going to be all wilted.”</p><p>“Worth it. But, yeah, let’s get back to our lunch meeting!” </p><p>David sweeps open the door to two with a flourish.</p><p>Patrick cocks an eyebrow at him. “Okay, that’s enthusiastic.</p><p>David just presses his lips together. His eyes twinkling. “I just love our lunch meetings so much.”</p><p> </p><p>***D***</p><p> </p><p>They sit down and dig into their lunches. After a bit David sets his fork down. “You said you had some not great news?”</p><p>Patrick puts his sandwich down and clears his throat. “Yeah, I’m afraid so.”</p><p>“About the grant?”</p><p>“Yeah. I’m afraid we didn’t get it David.”</p><p>“Shit.”</p><p>“I know. I know. And right now it just doesn’t look like we can be profitable enough to support my salary. I need to look at other options.”</p><p>“What do you mean, other options?!” David is alarmed. </p><p>“I can’t afford not to make a salary for very long. I’ll have to find a job somewhere else.”</p><p>“You can still live here rent free though!”</p><p>“Only if I’m still able to work here part time.” He puts his hands out on the table, and David wraps them up in his own. “If I can do something  part time with Ray, and part time here, then the apartment could be my part time pay. But if I have to go to Elmdale or somewhere to find full time work, I wouldn’t feel right living…”</p><p>David squeezes his hands. “Oh, Ray will <em> definitely </em>hire you for something! We’ll apply for other grants and keep working on profitability and then you can come back here full time.” </p><p>Patrick smiles fondly, if a bit sadly, and squeezes his hands back. “We’ll figure something out.”</p><p>David doesn’t like the panicky flutter in his chest. What if Patrick gets a job in Elmdale and moves there? That would be terrible! They’d barely get to see each other! Patrick would probably meet someone else! He’d want to at least see what else is out there. Elmdale isn’t a huge metropolis but it has a thriving queer community. </p><p>Patrick gets up and comes around to his side of the table. He sits beside him and pulls him close. David buries his face in Patrick’s shoulder. Patrick nuzzles his ear.  “Wherever I go David, I’m not <em> going anywhere </em>.” David nods against his neck and inhales his sweet scent. </p><p>David desperately wants to change the subject for now, he wants to put some space around this news and the possibilities it presents. He was excited to come in here earlier for a good reason. </p><p>“Um, Patrick, do you mind opening up the dock door, I love a stormy day.”</p><p> “Oh yeah, of course.”</p><p>David watches with bright eyes as Patrick opens the door. A cool, damp breeze blows in and there’s a rumble of distant thunder. Patrick looks over his shoulder at him and smiles. “Nice.” He gazes back out the dock door with his hands on his hips. </p><p>“So nice.” David waits for it. If he knows Patrick, and by now, he does, he’ll put his hands on the sad piano. And sure enough, Patrick turns away from the door and steps up to the keyboard. He reaches out with two fingers and presses the keys. </p><p>“Oh my god!” His head whips around to look at David and then back at the piano.</p><p>He plays a full chord and makes a delighted sound. “It’s tuned!” His hands run up and down the scales a few times and then turns again to look at David. “David, how—” </p><p>David is on his feet now and walking toward him. Hands clasped low in front of him. He’s leaning forward a bit and ducking his head sheepishly. </p><p>Patrick’s eyes are wide. “You did this?!” When David just bites his lip in response, Patrick crosses the space between them in a flash, folding him into his arms. “You got the piano tuned, David? You got it tuned for me?” Patrick’s eyes are full and warm.</p><p>David feels bashful all of a sudden. He expected Patrick to be pleased about this but his eyes are telling a much louder story. He nods his head and looks away from Patrick’s symphonic eyes. “I did.”</p><p>Patrick holds his face with both hands and kisses his lips, his cheek, then across his jaw to his ear. “Thank you baby, thank you so much. This is amazing! You’re amaz—  I can’t believe you did that for me! You’re so...” He pauses and runs a thumb over David’s cheekbone, his eyes singing. He softly says, “You’re so sweet.” Patrick kisses him gently. “Can I— do you mind if I play for a minute?”</p><p>“Of course not! I want you to play!”</p><p>Patrick sits and runs through scales a few times. He tries out a few chords here and there then stops. He flexes his fingers and pops his knuckles. He turns on the bench and looks at David. “Sit by me?” </p><p>David happily obliges. He sits with his back to the keyboard. His shoulder just brushing Patrick’s. Patrick leans into him and kisses his cheek again. “I’m sorry if I’m a little rusty. It’s been a while.”</p><p>He starts slow, a little hesitant. He runs through the intro for a song a few times. David almost recognizes it, but not quite. Patrick pauses again. He takes a breath and starts again. He runs through the intro and then, he starts to sing. </p><p>
  <em> (The Luckiest by Ben Folds) </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I don't get many things right the first time, In fact, I am told that a lot </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Now I know all the wrong turns the stumbles, And falls brought me here </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And where was I before the day, that I first saw your lovely face, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Now I see it every day </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And I know- That I am, I am, I am, the luckiest.  </em>
</p><p>Patrick leans into him on <em> luckiest </em>. David presses back. He watches Patrick out of the corner of his eye. Patrick’s head is down, eyes firmly on the piano keys. He sings.</p><p>
  <em> What if I had been born fifty years before you, In a house on the street </em>
</p><p>
  <em> where you lived. Maybe I'd be outside as you passed on your bike. Would I know? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And in a wide sea of eyes, I see one pair that I recognize </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And I know-That I am, I am, I am, the luckiest.  </em>
</p><p>Patrick leans into him again. He continues playing. The song and the lyrics are about love and David’s chest is somehow <em> still </em> expanding, pushing his heart into his throat. Patrick's voice is so clear and the lyrics are so heartfelt and all at once, David knows. Patrick loves him. His breath keeps catching in his chest. This man <em> loves </em>him. David lays his head on Patrick’s shoulder. Patrick plays the last bars, then stills his hands on the keyboard. He presses his cheek to the top of David’s head. </p><p>Thunder rumbles again, closer this time. It starts to rain, the drops hissing through the trees. Cool air rushes over them. They sit quietly. They breathe. They listen to the rain for a long time. </p><p>Finally Patrick kisses the top of David’s head and murmurs into his hair, “Was that too much?” </p><p>David grips the back of Patrick’s arm and shakes his head. “Not too much.” He takes a shaky breath. “It was perfect. Beautiful. Thank you for singing…” He trails off. </p><p>“To you.” Patrick finishes for him in a whisper. “I’m always singing to you.”</p><p> </p><p>***D***</p><p>To: Admin@Rainefoundation.org</p><p>Subject: Inappropriate behavior from foundation representative.</p><p>To whom it may concern,</p><p>My business partner and I applied for your Universal Arts Grant four months ago. We changed our minds and pulled the application within twenty-four hours. Despite that, I was contacted, in person no less, and verbally accosted by one Sebastien Raine. I’m hoping that the matter will be investigated by your otherwise dignified foundation. It’s horrifying to me that a man like that could be involved in deciding who is deserving of much needed art funding. </p><p>Thank you,</p><p>David Rose</p><p>*****</p><p>To:David Rose</p><p>Subject:  Inappropriate behavior from foundation representative.</p><p>Dear Mr. Rose,</p><p>Please accept our apologies. This individual was under investigation for some time. Please be assured that Sebastein Raine has never been employed by his family’s foundation and never had a hand in choosing or dismissing applications. The individual that was supplying him information about applicants has been fired. We are building a case against them both and with your permission, our lawyers may call on you. </p><p>I’ve implored all the organizations affected by Mr. Raine’s dubious actions to reapply.  We have made our new applications blind so we don’t know the identity of applicants unless they’re chosen.</p><p>I encourage you to reapply Mr. Rose. </p><p> </p><p>Best, </p><p>Thea Grant admin. </p><p>Attachment: RFappl.doc</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p>“Have you heard back from Ray?”</p><p>“Yeah, he says he can use a little help but not enough for part-time.”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>“I know. That accounting firm in Elmdale wants me to come in for an interview.”</p><p>“I can’t stand to think about losing you.”</p><p>“You’re not losing me, David. </p><p>“I can’t stand to think of The Garden losing you!”</p><p>“I’ll still help around here as much as I can. I love this place.” </p><p>“I know you’ll try, but you’ll have a nine to five job that’s, like, thirty minutes away!” </p><p>“Sshh, sssshhhh, let’s not talk about it anymore tonight, huh? Worrying about it isn’t helpful. C’mere.”</p><p>****</p><p>Stevie frowns at him over the Café menu. “Why are you buried in your phone the last few days? You sexting with the Care Bear?”</p><p>“No, and please stop calling him that. I’m checking my email. I’m expecting something important this week.” </p><p>“What is it?”</p><p>“I applied for a grant.”</p><p>“Doesn't Patrick usually do that?”</p><p>“Usually he does, but I did this one.”</p><p>***</p><p>
  <em> (1:57pm) P. Brewer: Can you come up to my office? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> (1:58pm) D. Rose: Ooh, sounds serious, am I being written up? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> (1:58pm) P. Brewer: I have news. </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em> Shit. </em> David’s heart starts hammering in his chest. No doubt Patrick got a job offer from the Elmdale accounting firm. David knows it’s a good thing. He can be grown up about this, but fuck if he wouldn’t rather pout. He makes his way up the stairs slowly. His phone vibrates in his pocket and he stops and sits on the step to check it. Anything to postpone the inevitable. His eyes widen as he reads the email. He holds the phone to his chest and squeezes his eyes closed. What timing. What perfect fucking timing. He takes slow, deep breaths. God, this is going to be good. </p><p>David raps on the door jam. “Hey.” He schools his face to look a little dejected. He’s sure Patrick’s news is about his job. </p><p>Patrick looks serious. “Please sit.”</p><p>David’s heart lurches. He <em> hopes </em> it's the job. Patrick looks grim as hell. He sits down and reaches his hands out on the desktop. Patrick holds his hands for a moment, looking pensive and sad. Then he lets go and turns his laptop so David can see it. </p><p>David squints at it. Is that their website? “What am I looking at?”</p><p>Patrick pushes it closer. There’s a photo of one of his paintings. And oh. Below it, in bold red letters, is the word <em> SOLD  </em> and <em> $2600.00. </em>David rockets out of his seat. “What?!” </p><p>Patrick jumps up too, arms raised over his head. “Congratulations!” </p><p>David flings his arms around Patrick’s neck and they giggle and bounce happily together. God this day just keeps getting better. </p><p>Finally, David pulls away. “Patrick, I want to take you out tonight to celebrate.”</p><p>Patrick smiles shyly. “I’d love that.” </p><p> </p><p>***P***</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> (5:29pm) D. Rose: Come pick me up at 6:30? Dress nice. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (5:31pm) P. Brewer: I’ll be there with bells on </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (5:32pm) D. Rose: Good. They have a bells policy and you wouldn’t want to wear one of theirs. </em>
</p><p>Patrick puts his car in park in front of David’s door. He gets out and runs a hand over his chest. He has only a few items of clothing that could be considered dressy, he hopes this is appropriate. He’s wearing dove grey dress pants, and a sharp, black button down. He feels good. Sexy and strong.  </p><p>Right before the notification came in that David’s painting sold, Patrick had gotten a call from the accounting firm. They were interested in hiring him, but only for the Thornridge office, which is an hour and a half drive from Schitt’s Creek. He told them he’d have to think about it. He was planning on discussing it with David, but then his painting sold, and Patrick is more than happy to put off an uncomfortable conversation. He’ll tell him tomorrow. </p><p>He unbuckles and gets out of the car. He’s halfway to the door when David opens it. </p><p>Patrick stops in his tracks and puts his hand to his chest, his stomach swooping. “Damn, David.” </p><p>Will he ever get used to how beautiful this man is? David is wearing a thin, black sweater that accentuates his broad chest and shoulders. The slacks he’s wearing are a soft coppery brown. They highlight his narrow hips. It should be understated, but on David, it’s stunning.</p><p>David has a similar reaction to Patrick’s outfit. “Fuck, Patrick.” </p><p>They stand staring at each other for a minute. Patrick finally claps his mouth shut and moves into David’s space. He puts his hands on David’s hips and gives him a kiss. “You look gorgeous baby.”</p><p>David drapes his arms over Patrick’s shoulders. “And you look good enough to eat.”</p><p>Patrick nuzzles into his neck, inhaling. “Mmm, you smell so good. Wanna skip dinner?” </p><p>“Mmm, as tempting as that is, I made reservations. But I will be investigating the fit of those pants later. Damn Patrick.”</p><p>Patrick blushes. The pants fit very well in the crotch. It’s the briefs underneath though, that bring everything forward, in a very flattering way. He was hoping David would notice. </p><p> </p><p>***D***</p><p> </p><p>Patrick is beaming at him across the table. They’re toasting the sale again. “I’m so proud of you David. Selling a painting is huge! I mean, to make something with your hands and your heart and then someone loves it so much they want it in their home. How does that feel?”</p><p>“It almost doesn’t feel real. I’m so grateful.” </p><p>“It’s just the beginning. ” </p><p>David sets down his fork and rubs his hands together. “There’s something else to celebrate Patrick.”</p><p>“There is?” Patrick’s eyes go wide, and then he squints. “What?”</p><p>David gets his phone out and taps at the screen. When he finds what he’s looking for he pauses and looks Patrick in the eye. “This.” He hands him the phone. </p><p>Patrick frowns and takes it. He reads and scrolls. “Uh…” He glances up at David and then reads the email again. “David, what is this? The Raine Foundation? I don’t understand.”</p><p>“I reapplied, and we won the grant, Patrick. The big one. You don’t have to go to work for Ray or in Elmdale. You can stay at the Garden.”</p><p>“I. I don’t know what to say David. I thought you hated that family after Sebastien—”</p><p>“No, I know. But listen. When we didn’t get that first grant, I started thinking about it. Really thinking. About Sebastien and what happened at market night. And Patrick, I don’t hate them. I don’t even hate Sebastien anymore. I think of him and I feel...nothing. You did that.” He draws a deep breath and reaches across the table for Patrick’s hands. “So I wanted to do something for you. For us.” </p><p>Patrick takes his hands and twists his mouth. “I don’t know what to say. I feel like you’re sacrificing something here and I’m not sure I’m comfortable with this.” </p><p>“Okay. Um.” David pauses. He recognizes the old impulses that jump forward. Defensiveness, anger, disregard. But this is Patrick. And Patrick <em> knows </em>him.  So he breathes and waits and watches him work through his discomfort. </p><p>David looks at their entwined hands and rubs his thumbs over Patrick’s knuckles. “I know what that’s like. Being uncomfortable when someone wants to be there for you.” </p><p>Patrick is still. His eyes searching David’s. “Are you sure?”</p><p>“Yes I’m sure. Sebastien doesn't even work for the foundation. Sebastien is nothing. You helped me find peace Patrick. You told me that I was strong. Somehow, I believed you. When you told me I was smarter, better than him. I believed you.” David’s eyes were welling with tears. He swallows hard. “I’ve never been more sure about anything.”</p><p>“David, I—” He lifts David’s hand and presses it against his lips. He stays like that, eyes closed for a moment. When he opens them they’re misty, and fond. More than fond. “If you’re sure,  I’m in. I’m all in.”</p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>Patrick shakes his head. “No thank you, David. For doing this, for wanting me to stay, for letting me see you. Thank you, David, thank you I—” He presses his lips together. “<em> You. </em>So much.”</p><p>David’s heart flutters up into his throat. He knows what word Patrick left out. “Patrick.”</p><p>Patrick looks down at the table. “If I were an artist I could show you, you know? In your secret language? I’d create something so beautiful, you’d know exactly how I feel, you’d know it in your bones and your blood.” </p><p>David closes his eyes. Light pulses behind his lids with every beat of his heart. He shakes his head and then nods.  “Patrick, I—”</p><p>“You don’t have to… it’s okay. Come home with me, David, come home with me, I need you in my bed tonight.”</p><p>There is such intensity in Patrick’s eyes, all David can do is whisper, “Okay.”</p><p> </p><p>***P***</p><p> </p><p>They’re standing at the foot of Patrick’s bed. The full moon shines through the open window, drenching the room with silvery light. Crickets are singing. It’s the only sound, save for their soft breath. They stand toe to toe, David leans his forehead to Patrick’s and begins unbuttoning his shirt. Patrick squeezes David’s waist and slips his fingers under the waistband of his pants. He runs his fingers around to the front and unbuckles his belt. </p><p>David takes one of Patrick’s hands and brings it up and unbuttons his cuff. He pauses and kisses the inside of his wrist. He does the same to the other side. Patrick drops his arms to his sides and stares into David’s eyes. David puts his hands on his chest, slowly moving them up and pushing the shirt off Patrick’s shoulders. </p><p>Patrick shivers as the shirt slides to the floor. He’s pinned in place by the sensation of David’s hands on him, gently undressing him. He is overcome by the expansive feeling that’s bloomed in his chest. He practically told David he loved him tonight. And though he’s said those words to someone before, there is nothing remotely familiar about <em> anything </em> he feels with David. He’s stunned by the scope of it. His desire, his heart. He’s speechless with it. All he can do is gaze at David, beautiful David, and try, with his hands, his body, his eyes, to make him understand. </p><p>Patrick takes the bottom hem of David’s sweater and starts to pull it up. David lifts his arms over his head and leans over a little, allowing Patrick to pull it over his head. He takes it out of Patrick’s hands and lays it gently over a chair. </p><p>Patrick is still struggling with the surge of emotions that rise and fall and then rise higher like an incoming tide. He steps into David’s arms and holds him. They’re still mostly dressed, but he can’t wait another minute to be close, close, closer. He lays his cheek against David’s shoulder and wraps his arms tightly around him. </p><p>David’s hands stroke up and down his back, finally coming up to cup the back of his neck, and cradle the back of his head. “You okay?”</p><p>Patrick nods against his shoulder. “I’m okay. I just— <em> so </em> much, David. So <em> much </em>.” Still, he can’t quite say the word. He kisses David’s neck, then sucks hard and quick, making David twitch in his arms. That’s a lot too. That he can make David feel and respond. He puts a little space between them and strips off his t-shirt, dropping it on the floor. </p><p>David’s eyes travel over his bare chest, glittering with want. It makes him feel powerful and weak at the same time. David wants him. Patrick wants to give him everything, anything. They strip off the rest of their clothing and tumble into bed. </p><p>David sighs with pleasure. “Oh god, I love all your skin on all my skin.”</p><p>Patrick  murmurs, “I love your skin,” as he strokes and pets every part of David he can reach. “I love your body.”</p><p>They kiss and kiss and grind against each other, caressing and clutching, until they’re both panting. </p><p>David comes up for air, his voice low and intimate. “What do you need? Tell me what you need.”</p><p>Patrick sighs. “I need you inside me David. I want you to fuck me.”</p><p>David’s breath hitches, two sharp inhales. “Anything you want, sweetheart. Anything you want.” David kisses him and then because David communicates, because David<em> always </em>communicates, he pulls back and holds Patrick’s face with both hands. He looks into his eyes. “Are you sure? Have you..?”</p><p>“Never with a person? Just with…” Patrick blushes hotly and David bites his lip, his eyes gleaming. Patrick squinches his eyes closed. “Just with toys. And I. I got cleaned up. Earlier.”</p><p>David shivers and kisses him lushly. “Good, baby, that’s good.” He rolls back and reaches for condoms and lube in Patrick’s night stand. “I want you to talk to me. If you want to stop, it’s okay to stop okay?” </p><p>Patrick nods. “Yeah, okay, David. Thank you.”</p><p>David looks at him with soft eyes. He coos, “Of course, baby, of course. I’m going to make it so good for you, We’re going to go slow okay? I’m gonna get you ready for me. Do you want that?”</p><p>Patrick’s chest is heaving. “Yeah, god, yeah, please.” </p><p>David kisses him again, a slow, pulsing kiss that Patrick can feel through his whole body. His eyes close and he loses himself in the sensations. David’s mouth on his. David’s hands gliding over his body. He strokes his cock and Patrick bucks up. David hums against his lips and strokes him lightly a few times making Patrick whine. He wants more. More friction, more pressure, but David keeps kissing him, lush and pulsing. His hands, touching him, petting his thighs, massaging his balls, stroking his cock with a maddeningly light touch. </p><p>He hears the click of the lube cap and feels the cool pressure of David’s finger stroking down his perineum. Then it’s against his rim. He exhales in a rush. </p><p>David keeps circling his rim with one slick finger, pressing in just a fraction and then pulling back out. He whispers, “Patrick, is this okay?”</p><p>Patrick groans. “S’okay, yeah, more please, more.” His eyes are closed and his hips rock up and back against David’s hand.</p><p>David kisses him again and presses in deeper. He whispers against his lips. “Tell me how it feels. Tell me what you need. Talk to me, love.”</p><p><em> Love. </em>“So good David, so good. Yeah.” A low moan escapes him. “More. Deeper. More…”</p><p>David slips his finger out and pushes in two, sliding them in and out, then pressing in deep, curling them up and brushing his prostate.</p><p>Patrick gasps and his whole body spasms. “God...David... my… god… oh.” His brain is sizzling with static. He couldn’t speak coherently if he could find the words, so he speaks with his body. He opens his thighs wider and thrusts back on David’s fingers. David adds a third and Patrick moans, low and long. He clutches the back of David’s neck and pulls him in and kisses him messily. </p><p>David starts the rhythmic kissing again. Fucking his tongue into Patrick’s mouth and scissoring his fingers, until Patrick is a quivering mess. He slurs, “Please… ‘m ready, please please now. Pleasenowpleasenow.” </p><p>David reaches for the condom. “How do you—”</p><p>Patrick just paws at him. “I wanna see you, I wanna see your face.” He strokes David’s cheek and hair and pulls on his arm.</p><p>David is breathless. “Oh yeah, yeah, I wanna see you too.” He kneels between Patrick’s thighs. He slicks himself with more lube and rolls the condom on. He applies more lube over the condom and squeezes a good dollop directly on Patrick’s hole. Patrick shivers at the sensation and arches his back. </p><p>David leans over him. Bracing one hand next to Patrick’s head and lines himself up. Patrick’s hands skate over his arms and shoulders. He can feel David’s body vibrating with the effort of holding back. David looks into his eyes. “You ready?” </p><p>“Yes, please. Oh.” Patrick’s eyes go wide when David presses into him with glacial slowness. The pressure feels so good and the stretch burns and the combination sends sharp, bright sparks up Patrick’s spine. He pants, quick, shallow breaths.</p><p>David pauses and kisses him gently. He looks at him searchingly. “More?”</p><p>Patrick draws in a deep breath. <em> And exhale. </em> “More.” David pushes in deeper, then drags slowly out. <em> Inhale. </em> He does it again. <em> Exhale </em> . Again. <em> Inhale </em> . Finally, he thrusts back in and bottoms out. David moans. <em> Exhale. </em> Patrick’s body quakes. <em> Inhale. </em> He feels David’s hips against his ass and his cock is inside him. David is inside him. Filling him. His eyes roll back and slip closed. <em> Exhale. </em> He rasps, “Fuck me.” </p><p>David starts moving. Slow drag out, Patrick arches. Quick thrust in, Patrick gasps.  David’s voice is low and breathless. “My god. Patrick, you. Feel so. Good. Are you. Good?” </p><p>Patrick opens his eyes and his breath catches. David is looking at him with dark eyes. His face is wide open and vulnerable. David is so <em> here </em>. He’s so completely present and unguarded. For him. For Patrick. Patrick’s throat aches with the depth of connection he feels. He’s never felt closer to another person in his life. He’s never felt so intimately known, or so dearly held.</p><p>He gazes into his eyes as they rock together. “Perfect. You’re perfect. My David.” </p><p>David gasps and his chin quivers, he drops his forehead to Patrick’s shoulder. He makes a sound like a sob. He slows the movement of his hips. He stops and gasps again, “Patrick.”</p><p>Patrick clutches his back and rolls his hips into him. “Don’t stop. Love me. Love me, David.” </p><p>David presses his lips to his ear. His voice breaks. “Patrick.”</p><p>Patrick cups the back of his head and whispers, “Show me.”</p><p>David shows him.</p><p><em> David </em> . He’s the only thing he knows. David. David. David. In him. On him. Surrounding him. David is everywhere. <em> Everything.  </em></p><p>Then Patrick sees stars.</p><p> </p><p>***D***</p><p> </p><p>Patrick says <em> perfect </em> and oh, it is. David has never felt anything like this. He’s moved by Patrick’s trust. Patrick has allowed David inside his body but Patrick is filling him up, replenishing him. David’s chest feels cleaved in two and Patrick has filled the gap. He’s giving himself to him and David <em> loves </em> him. He loves him. </p><p>He hides his face in Patrick’s shoulder and chokes out, “Patrick.” </p><p>Patrick holds him close. “Don’t stop. Love me. Love me, David.” </p><p>He does. He loves him. “Patrick.” It’s a sob.</p><p>Patrick cups the back of his head and whispers, “Show me.”</p><p>Patrick knows. The realization is a lightning strike. Patrick <em> knows </em>that David loves him. He doesn’t ask to be told, only to be shown. David may not be able to name it. This feeling, too big for words, and the words, too soon to say. But he can show him. He can do that. With his hands, his body, his mouth, he shows Patrick. David gives him all that he is; his bold painter, and his leather-clad charmer. He gives him pieces of himself he’d forgotten about, his tenderest, most vulnerable and secret self, he offers it all. And Patrick takes it, all of him, accepting him, enveloping him, taking him into his body and his heart. Everything he is, he gives to this beautiful soul, that wants all of him. </p><p>Their sweat slick bodies rock and thrust and reach and grasp. They cry out. One after the other. Their voices lifting up and blending together, then gentling down, down to soft murmurs. Lips are kissed, damp hair pushed away from heavy lidded eyes, skin is caressed, and tears are brushed from flushed cheeks. </p><p>David shows Patrick more. He unwinds himself from Patrick’s loose limbs and fetches a warm washcloth. He moves and soothes his pliant, trusting body. David gets them both water and cuts up an apple. He feeds it to him, while they rumble in sleepy, spent voices and share comfortable quiet. </p><p>When Patrick starts to drift, David nudges him under the cool sheets. Patrick opens his eyes and reaches for him, pulling him close. David sinks down against his chest, smiling when his sleep-heavy arm wraps around his shoulder, holding him fast. </p><p>Patrick hums. It thrums against David’s ear and he bites his lip. He knows the song. Patrick sings, raspy and soft, “I am, I am, I am the luckiest…”</p><p>David lifts his head, resting his chin on Patrick’s chest and looks into his eyes. He takes a breath and David sings. It’s quiet, he’s unsure of his voice, but sure of Patrick’s language. And completely sure of his words. “I love you more than I could ever find a way to say to you.” Patrick’s eyes burn in the moonlight. David blinks slow, a smile tugs the corner of his mouth. He sings it again, “I love you more than I could—” His breath catches in his throat. He stares into Patrick’s eyes. </p><p>Patrick closes his eyes and his chest hitches. When he opens his eyes, they shine with tears. </p><p>He smiles softly. “I love you, too.” </p><p>David lays his cheek against Patrick’s chest again. He sinks into it. Breath. Heartbeat. Love. It sinks into him. They fall asleep that way, while the full moon shines, and the crickets sing. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for all the kudos and wonderful comments. I can't express how much they mean to me. </p>
<p>For a visual of David in his overalls please click here: </p>
<p>  <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/blog/smallumbrella369">Painter David</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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